Alone Together
by Etimire T
Summary: When worthy humans die, at the discretion of the Creator, they are sometimes given an angelic 'upgrade'. With the angels gunning for the showdown between Lucifer and Michael, Dean's upgrade is suddenly rushed. While Dean may be suddenly filled with Grace, Castiel has been rendered merely human in a catastrophic accident. How will this affect the apocalypse
1. Sucker For Pain

Chapter 1

Sucker for Pain

Dean knew. He freaking _knew_ something was wrong the moment he opened the trunk of the car. He paused and glanced back at the building to see the trail end of Cass' coat entering through the door down the path that lead from the road to the building. Well good. At least he showed up. Sometimes Dean didn't really know with the guy. With pursed lips, he bent down and rummaged through the elaborate array of killing devices they had stashed under a flap. It took iron to kill a witch. Even a witch that somehow knew how to work magic on angels. Fancy-shmancy magic, his butt. It was still a witch. Iron it was.

He took up a handgun already loaded with iron bullets and an unusual iron knife. Good.

Already nervous, he, jogged back to the building and entered with baited breath.

It was empty. They must have gone upstairs. Dean cursed quietly. Why didn't Sam and Cass wait for him? Holding the gun with practiced ease, Dean crept up the stairs. It was silent. Too quiet.

The old apartment building was in long disuse. Wallpaper peeled off the walls and littered the ground like petals, and parts of the piping were exposed for the world to see. It smelled like mildew and smoke. Dean made no noise as he reached the second floor. Empty. The blow out windows littered the floor with glass shards, and outside, Dean could see a thunderstorm threatening to break above them. He waited a second and then perked up when he heard a thump above him.

Cursing, he cocked the gun and jogged to the next flight of stairs. Sammy's voice drifted through the ceiling. "You idiot! That'll kill every-" His words cut off and were followed by a another large thump. Deans blood boiled. He hated witches. Nasty, stupid, experimental creatures, every one of them.

He reached the third floor, which was blocked off by a wooden door, and entered. Empty again. Growling in frustration, he kept on going. How many floors did this building have anyway? He could hear voices clearly now, but every staircase only revealed another empty room. What was going on? Was this some sort of magick the guy had going on?

A sudden sound had him frozen for half a moment and fear thudded in his stomach. Cass screamed again, and it set Dean off, faster and faster up the never ending stairs. Cass didn't make sounds like that. No one as powerful as him should ever make a noise like that. The angel screamed something garbled and this time Sam's voice joined his in protest. "Stop! Stop, you're going to kill him!"

Furious Dean fiddled with the trigger and cursed his own stupidity. He'd just given a power hunger, angel abusing witch fresh meat.

For the first time, the witch spoke up. He had a low, silky voice. _"Just one feather, little boy. One feather and I'll stop."_

Feather?

What kind of idiot was this guy?

Another staircase. Another door. Another empty room. Another staircase.

 _"Stop! You don't know what you're doing!"_

 _"I'll just take it from you, then."_

Dean's eyes widened. He had no idea what that meant but given Cass and Sam's instant and terrified protests, it didn't take a genius to figure out it wasn't good.

Growling, Dean slammed his shoulder against the door. To his shock, it opened to finally reveal the top floor. His relief only lasted a moment, however, as he took in the situation. The witch was grinning maniacally. Sam was pinned to the wall across the room with magick and Cass...

Cass was in the middle of a slowly tightening circle of holy fire.

But that wasn't even the worst part. Some sort of symbol hung in the air. Cass doubled over beneath it with a groan, and the witch was busy in the middle of a complex sounding incantation. The wind screamed outside, and the air was heavy with electricity. Castiel's gaze whipped up at Dean's entrance and instantly filled with dread and fear. No, not fear. Terror. Castiel was terrified. Oh gods, what was being done to him?

"Dean!" Sam screamed from the wall. He had his hands slammed over his ears. "Close your-"

But it was too late. Before anyone could make any more movements, the room suddenly erupted into light.

It was so bright and intense, there was no way Dean could have avoided it. He dropped his weapons, suddenly paralyzed, and distantly registered the sound of glass shattering. But that was before a mind numbing sound overwhelmed him. It climbed into his ears like whips of fire, and his own screaming joined the screams of the angel.

 _I'm_ _going to die_ , he thought disjointedly. _I'm blind and deaf and paralyzed and dead._

He couldn't close his eyes.

In his terror, he managed to feel a sense of confusion. He could see something. Some shadow within the light. The shadows arched up, and it took only a second to realize what he was seeing. Wings. Those were Castiel's wings. They wavered and broke and disappeared, sucked into the light.

The noise became even louder, and Dean finally managed to cover his ears. He screamed in agony as it seemed to go on for eternity.

Then, all at once, it stopped.

The floor flew up to slam into Dean's face.

* * *

Sam Winchester had experienced some pretty horrible things, but that did not prepare him for the horror he felt when he realized what the witch was going to do. He was going to force Castiel to reveal his true form. And it was going to destroy the angel.

Not to mention anyone nearby.

The moment the room exploded into light, the magick holding him to the wall disappeared, and Sam slammed into the ground behind a table and sufficiently far from the blast that by curling up and keeping his eyes shut, he had some hope of actually get out of this without permanent injury.

The same could not be said for the witch, Castiel, or Dean.

His heart thrumming faster and harder than it had in a very long time, Sam curled up on the floor and refused to think about what had to be happening to Dean.

Dean. Dean. Dean.

He was dead. He had to be. Castiel had killed him.

Sam tried to move but couldn't.

All at once, the light cut out. The room was deadly silent and so dark in comparison Sam stumbled more times than he could count in his mad dash toward Dean's side.

His vision came back a bit with a few rapid blinks, and Sam spotted Dean on his face. His heart plunged. _God, please. Please don't let this happen._ He fumbled with shaking hands to his brother's side, knowing that he had to be dead. He pleaded out loud but couldn't hear his own voice. There was no way Dean could have survived that. The witch, who had been directly in front of Castiel, was nothing but a pile of ash. Sam pushed Dean over, only to jerk back in shock.

Deans eyes.

If anything, Sam had expected they would be nothing but gaping holes. Singed. Dead.

Instead, they glowed bright with an intense blue familiar to the light Castiel had been expelling only a moment before. However, the light faded an instant later, and Dean's eyelids fluttered shut. Sam took his pulse quickly. The steady, if a bit slow, beat had him sobbing in relief.

Dean was alive. He was alive. Sam had no idea how but he wasn't going to question it.

"Dean, wake up. Say something, Dean." He held his head gently. Sam's voice sounded like it came from underwater. But he wasn't blind or deaf so he'd take what he got. Dean frowned and shifted but otherwise didn't respond. Unconscious. Okay, okay. That was okay. He could deal with that.

Realizing he'd forgotten about the other member of their little suicide squad, Sam laid Dean carefully onto the floor and got to his feet shakily. He blinked and squinted, trying to spot the angel.

There.

Hands in front of him, Sam walked until he got to Cas's side. The holy fire had blown out in the explosion, and the angel was curled in a ball on the floor, his coat seeming to swallow him. He looked smaller in some way Sam couldn't identify. He checked for a pulse and found a weak one. But he was alive. Which was more than he expected. Relieved, he tried to unwind his friend, but Castiel wouldn't move.

"Cass. Cass, buddy, can you hear me?"

Castiel shivered and blinked open glazed eyes. His look of pure devastation was so strong it rooted Sam in place. "De-"

"He's okay," Sam assured him quickly. "Dean's alive. I don't know how but- but he is."

The angel relaxed considerably. His eyes rolled back in his head. Panicked, Sam shook his shoulder. "Cass! Cass, don't do that. You need to stay awake."

But the angel just groaned, his head lolling. Shoot.

Sam's mind spun rapidly. What should he do now?

He should take them somewhere safe. Somewhere they could recover.

Bobby's. It wasn't that far from here anyhow. Two hours at the most. Quickly, Sam scrambled to his feet. He wrapped his arms around Dean under his arms and started to drag him toward the door. He managed to get open the door and froze in surprize when he stepped into the evening air.

He blinked confusedly at the building.

The many stories must have been a trick of the witch. There was only one story in the old house. Relieved he wasn't going to have to drag Dean down half a million staircases, he dragged him to the Impala, softly apologizing when he bumped the man's head. After managing to stuff him into the passenger seat. He ran back inside, paused dizzily at the door, and went back inside again. Castiel had not moved. He shivered and his hair was wet with sweat. That was not typical angel behavior, Sam knew. He dropped down next to him, suddenly exhausted.

"Cass, I can't carry you," he croaked. "You need to get up."

The angel's eyes flicked open. They darted around the room, obviously not seeing anything. He was still asleep.

"Cass," Sam tried again. His vision was steadily returning, and he noticed for the first times, burns on the man's wrists and neck. A result of the spell, no doubt. After what seemed like forever, Castiel managed to shift into a half sitting position.

"I killed him," he croaked. "I killed him, didn't I?"

Sam shook his head and helped him to his feet, taking most of the man's weight on his own shoulders. Cass slumped but managed to put one foot in front of the other. "You didn't kill Dean, Cass. He's alive."

Cass's gaze clouded with confusion. He blinked slowly, and they made it out of the door and onto the gravel driveway. "It's so… quiet," he said softly. "In my head."

Sam frowned, his head ringing. What was he talking about? He opened the backseat door, and Cass crawled in. He fell unconscious immediately, and Sam hoped he didn't roll off if they stopped quickly.

Shaking his head, he nervously got into the driver's seat and checked Dean's pulse again. Still alive. Just not awake. Taking in a shuddering breath, Sam turned the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Bobby would know what to do, Sam told himself. Bobby always knew how to fix situations like this.

* * *

Bobby Singer was having a pretty darn fine day until the phone rang. He had a beer, a nice fire in his recently cleaned out fireplace to battle the autumn chill, a comfortable chair, and an ancient text that actually made some sense. A fine day.

But then of course his cell had to ring. With a sigh, he flipped it open, noting the caller ID, and put it up to his ear, frowning.

"This is Bobby Singer. Something wrong, Sam?"

Sam's voice came spilling through the phone so quickly Bobby was a bit disturbed he could even talk that fast. "Slow down. You're gonna eat yer tongue if you go on like that... Who's hurt... Uh huh. What? What kind of crazy idjit... Okay. That's fine. And Feathers?... Shouldn't he just heal?... Oh. Alright, I'll get out the first aid... Witches. Greedy pain in the- alright. How far sure you?... Uh huh. See you in twenty minutes."

He hung up and cursed. He closed his book and got up to fetch whatever he could think might be helpful. Sam said Dean wasn't hurt, just unconscious, but he doubted that was entirely true. A person didn't just stand in front of an exploding angel bomb and not suffer consequences. He got out an on-hand, basic first aid kit, and then thought better of it. He dug into the back of the bathroom cupboard for a more extensive one. Sam said Cass was hurt and not healing, which didn't spell well. Bobby had no idea how to fix up an angel. Hopefully, it wasn't much different than a human.

He spent the next fifteen minutes stewing in a pool of nervous energy. When he finally heard tires on the gravel, he shot up and out the door.

Sam unfolded out of the driver's seat looking like death himself. His eyes were sunken and red rimmed, and he stumbled a bit into Bobby.

"Srry, Bobby," he slurred. "Imma bit dizzy. Think it messed my ears up."

Bobby snorted, irritated that Sam hadn't mentioned his own obvious ailments on the phone. Instead of scolding him it, he opened the front door and the side door. Dean appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Castiel, on the other hand, shivered violently. Bobby grunted, recognizing the priority. "Help me get 'im inside, Sam."

Sam followed orders, and they both half-dragged, half-carried the angel into the house. Dropping him as gently on the couch as possible, Bobby swiped is brow and frowned worriedly.

"Go get Dean."

Sam left. He was obviously a bit stunned. Bobby didn't blame him.

Cass moaned and thrashed, the red burns on his neck and wrists standing out starkly. His hair was soaked, and his forehead beaded with sweat. Without further hesitation, Bobby set to work. He stripped the angel of his outer coat and then his suit coat. He unbuttoned his shirt and, seeing there were no injuries on his chest, moved to the kitchen to get some ice. It was obvious he was suffering from an extremely high fever, but Bobby had no idea what caused it. The burns certainly would not do such a thing. While obviously painful, they would not provoke a reaction like this.

No matter. The fever needed to be broken.

As Sam came struggling inside and fumbled up the stairs to the guest bedroom with an unconscious Dean, Bobby wet some hand towels with cold water and set to attempting to cool the angel down. He used some cream on the burns and continued bustling about, occasionally muttering profanity.

A few minutes in, Cass's eye flashed open. Bobby noted his severely dilated eyes, and then Cass grabbed Bobby's arm and spoke rapidly and desperately in a language Bobby could not understand. He recognized the sounds, however. Enochian.

"You've got 'bout thirty languages you could speak in, idjit, that I'd understand."

Castiel's brow creased in confusion. He met Bobby's gaze, but a moment later, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Bobby tapped his face gently... And then less so when he did not respond. "Balls... Sam! Where are you?"

"Here." Sam came stumbling down the stairs. He looked down at Castiel with concern. "What's wrong with him?"

"Best I can guess, he's got a heck of a fever, and he's probably in shock. Overheated? He don't seem to know where he is."

Sam blinked. "He shouldn't- that shouldn't be possible. He's an angel, Bobby. Angels don't get fevers."

Bobby glared at him and picked up the wet, now very warm rag off of Castiel's forehead. "Are you gonna argue or help?"

"Sorry." Sam took the rag. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get me some cold water and a thermometer."

Sam rushed from the room, tipping as he walked, and Bobby thought to himself he needed to check Sam as soon as he got this situation handled. The angel murmured again, this time in English. "Dean. Where? Where's... Got to help-help-"

"Dean is asleep upstairs," Bobby assured him. Although, he didn't think Castiel could hear him. This was confirmed when Castiel continued to speak.

"Sam. Sorry, Sam. Sorrysorrysorry..."

Bobby sighed, and Sam came back in with the water, more washcloths, and a thermometer. He frowned down at Castiel, who had slipped into Enochian again.

"What's he saying?"

"I haven't the foggiest. Gimme that thing." He took the thermometer and quickly took the angel's temperature. He grunted. "105. He don't cool down soon, and we might need to throw him in a bath..."

Sam nodded.

The next several hours were stressful, to put it lightly. Eventually, Sam fell asleep sitting backwards in a chair when Bobby went to check on Dean.

He entered the guest bedroom, complete with two beds. Dean lay on one, still unconscious, but looking no worse for wear. Bobby frowned, confused. This made no sense. If Dean was in front of Castiel when he went up in flames like they said he did, he should be a husk. Burnt out eyes. Bleeding ears. Reduced to ash, even.

But there he was, breathing deeply and easily. He looked asleep.

Bobby wasn't complaining, but... what on earth was going on?

Bobby grabbed a quilt out of the closet, spread it over Dean, and then frowned at him. Strange.

Curious, he manually opened one of Dean's eyes and then the other. Besides staying asleep, he looked normal. His eyes were not even dilated like his feathered friend downstairs. Now, Bobby only had to worry whether or not he'd wake up.

Something thumped on the first floor. Bobby sighed wearily and tromped back down. At the sight of Sam, asleep at his post, Bobby smiled a bit.

He came up behind him and tapped his shoulder gently. With a yawn, the younger Winchester opened his eyes again and sighed.

"How's Dean?"

"Still asleep."

Sam nodded sleepily, and his eyes slid down to Castiel. "His fever's gone down."

"Good." Bobby pulled up his own chair and sat. "You look like you've been through a meat grinder, Sam. I'll watch him. Go sleep."

It was proof of how exhausted he really was that Sam only nodded in response and did as he was told. He paused at the base of the stairs and his brow furrowed. "Something strange happened when I got to Dean, Bobby," he said quietly.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Besides him not being roast beef?"

Sam glared at him but was too tired to put any venom in it. "His eyes. They were glowing."

Frowning, Bobby crossed his arms. "Are you sure? You were probably half blind at the time."

Sam considered this but shook his head. "No, I know what I saw. It was..." He paused and pursed his lips. "I dunno what it was."

Bobby waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, he looked pointedly at the stairs. "Go rest, idjit."

Sam complied.

The silence stretched and thickened like taffy. With a sigh, Bobby scrubbed his face and considered the strange young man asleep on his couch. Or... He supposed he shouldn't call him young.

For now, mysteries could wait.

As Castiel's breaths evened out and the night grew longer, Bobby took out his book and sat it in his lap. It wasn't like he was going to get any sleep tonight. He might as well lose himself in the ancient knowledge this book offered.

* * *

AN: AND I AM SORRY I KEEP STARTING NEW BOOKS BUT THIS IS IT. THIS IS ME. I CAN'T STOP. I've written several chapters of this and I'm planing for it to be about twenty. What do you think? Worth continuing?


	2. Say Something

Chapter 2

Say Something

"If you are looking for inspiration, you should know that book is entirely heretical and the man who wrote it tried to be a politician and priest at once."

Bobby's eye flicked up to the angel on his couch and grunted. He closed a latin version of _Divine Comedy_ and raised en eyebrow. "Nice to know."

Morning came and went and noon was well on her way. Outside, a butt ugly sky gave the scrap yard outside a gray, washed-out tinge. With a sigh, Castiel blinked bright blue eyes at him and sat up slowly. He was wearing a white t-shirt of Deans that Sam had fetched after his other shirt was soaked through and the same pair of pants. He groaned and pinched between his eyebrows.

"Where's-?"

"Sam is in the other room, and Dean is still asleep."

Cass nodded. He ran a hand through his hair, and it stuck up oddly. He frowned. "What happened?"

"You exploded."

"Ah. That… would do it." His eyes glazed as he attempted to recall. After a moment, he paled. "Dean was right in front of me. He should be-"

"He's not," Bobby interrupted. "Idjit won't wake up. But other than that, he seems to be fine."

Castiel cocked his head. "That is not possible."

"Yur tellin' me."

Behind them, the screen door slammed, and Sam's heavy footsteps announced the younger Winchester's presence. He entered, and his face lit up marginally when he spotted Castiel sitting up. "Cass! You're awake." He snagged a chair and sat down backward on it. Sam was looking much better than the day before. Color had come back to his face, and his eyes were no longer dilated. Sam had told Bobby that his ears were still ringing, but in Bobby's books, that was getting off lucky. Sam took a bite of an energy bar that certainly had not come from Bobby's fridge. "How're you feeling?"

Castiel considered this. He opened his mouth to respond and then stopped, confused. The confusion quickly turned to panic. His hand drifted up to his neck. He touched the burn lightly and winced. "It's gone."

That paused them. Sam blinked. "What's gone?"

Castiel didn't respond. Instead, he looked around wildly and grabbed a letter opener, which happened to be sitting on the table next to the couch. Before either man could respond, he sliced his palm. Crimson welled up in a long, thin line, and Castiel stared at it in horror.

Meanwhile, Bobby cursed and snatched the knife from the angel. "You idjit! What are you doing!" He grabbed Castiel's hand a pressed one of the washcloths against it. The blood stained it red, and Castiel continued to stare at it, appalled.

"It hurts," he whispered.

Sam, who had reacted similarly to Bobby, turned on his friend. "What?"

"It hurts," Castiel repeated.

His words finally sunk in, and Sam's eyes widened. "That… that means… What does that mean?"

His shock fading, Castiel pulled away from Bobby and stared at them blankly. "My Grace… it's gone."

"Gone? How is that possible?"

A spark of irritation and Castiel snapped a reply. "That was the purpose of the spell. It wasn't to kill me, it was to destroy my Grace."

Bobby and Sam exchanged shocked glances. _Destroy_ Grace? They'd never heard of such a thing.

"Well, it explains the freakin' fever."

"That means you're human," Sam spoke up.

Castiel nodded just barely. He rubbed his thumb across the cut, and his frown deepened. They knew his Grace had already been depleting since he'd been cut off from Heaven (such were the consequences of choosing the Winchesters over the Apocalypse) but he'd still had a significant amount. Now, it was apparently… gone.

Bobby's face hardened, and he grabbed Castiel roughly by the shoulder, forcing him to look in his eyes. "Don't you ever go do something like that again, ye hear me?" He pointed at his sliced palm. "You try to cut yourself without a good doggone reason, and I will kick yer sorry arse into next week."

Castiel smacked his hand off, eyes flashing. "I can take care of myself, old-"

"Woah, woah." Sam got in between them and pushed Castiel, who had halfway risen, back down onto the couch, "Cass. Dude. Calm down."

Bobby knew misplaced anger when he saw it. The angel was taking out his fear on the first person in front of him. It was nothing personal. All the same, Bobby wasn't gonna cut him any slack. He crossed his arms and sat down with a glower.

Cass, meanwhile, was fighting between what appeared to be intense irritation, confusion, and guilt. He took a deep breath and settled on guilt. "My apologies. I… do not know what that was."

Bobby grunted and waited a suitably long time before sighing. "Yeah, well, whatever."

Sam watched them carefully and took a final bite of his energy bar. He frowned thoughtfully down at it. "So... are you hungry?" he asked Cas.

Cas's brow creased as he considered this. "I do not know."

Slowly, Sam nodded. "Right. I guess you wouldn't. Um, how about… uh, Bobby?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there any food in the fridge?"

Bobby shrugged. "You could probably make a sandwich."

Crumbling up the bar wrapper and stuffing it into his back pocket, Sam stood up and extended a hand to Castiel. Castiel stared at the hand and then up at Sam. "Come on, Cas," Sam said. "I'll teach you how to make a sandwich."

Cass considered this before nodding and taking his hand. There was an intense sadness in Castiel's eyes that the angel could not quite hide. They stood, and Castiel trailed after Sam into the kitchen. He was obviously shaky on his feet, but Bobby admired his stubbornness. They disappeared around the corner, and Bobby rolled his eyes. A few years ago, if someone had told him Sam Winchester would be teaching an angel how to make a sandwich in his kitchen, he would have shut them in a nut house.

Through the door, Castiel's voice drifted. "Why do I need to know how to do this?"

"Because I'm not going to make your food all the time, and if you don't know how, you'll probably try to eat cinnamon and paprika on cake or something."

"Those are all editable, are they not?"

Bobby chuckled. But after a moment, the chuckle turned into a frown. There was still someone missing from this equation.

His gaze drifted up the stairs where Dean was asleep. Worry wrapped around his chest. If he didn't wake up soon… Bobby wasn't sure what he was going to do. Sam was distracting himself with Castiel, which was fine, but that would only work for so long.

"Dude." Sam again. "Slow down or you'll choke…" There was a muffled response and then, "Guess you _were_ hungry..."

* * *

Cass sat down in an armchair next to Dean's bed, winded and irritated by the fact that he was winded. It was a single staircase.

He was having a hard time keeping track of days, but if Sam and Bobby's faces were anything to go by, this was an abnormal amount of time for a human being to sleep. He started sitting upright in the chair, but eventually, the position tired him, and he slumped back to watch the man sleep. Dean's chest lifted and then compressed, and Castiel cocked his head sadly.

"Dean," he whispered. "Dean, you should wake up now. You're making Sam worried." _And me. You're worrying me._

Dean did not respond.

Cass sighed and kneaded between his eyes. He'd had a headache for days now, but it was getting better slowly. Which was something. The quiet didn't help. _Silence._ In his head. He had no idea what his siblings were doing, and the disconnect was probably the worst part of this situation.

Outside of Dean. Sleeping on the bed.

Everything about being a human was so impossibly _slow_. Slow and difficult and complicated. Even his reactions were more complicated. There was a sense of uncertainty Castiel had felt in part, but never like this before. He could not think of a question and arrive instantly in front of someone who had the answer. He had to _work_ to understand. Every emotion was heightened and more irrational than Castiel had expected, and he'd found himself snapping at both Sam and Bobby for reasons he could not even recall now. It was… frustrating.

He'd refrained considering the consequences of this turn of events in regards to Lucifer and the oncoming Apocalypse. He was now wonderfully useless.

Rolling away that unpleasant thought, he sighed down at Dean again. Leaning forward, he touched him lightly on the forehead. "You know, before, I could have done that and known exactly what was wrong with you."

Dean did a wonderful impression of a wood post.

Talking to an unconscious person was irrational, Castiel decided. After a long moment, Cass stood suddenly. A wave of dizziness rushed through him, and he hissed in irritation, grabbing onto the armchair to keep himself upright. He rubbed the empty feeling just beneath the burned ring on his neck.

They told him he was just recovering. He wouldn't feel like this forever. It felt like forever. And that's coming from a creature that had existed since the dawn of time.

Or maybe impatience was just another one of the human emotions he'd recently acquired.

The only aspect Cass could think of that would make this situation bearable was currently unconscious.

"Please," he said aloud. "Please wake up, Dean."

Something shuffled behind him, and he turned slightly to behold a tired-looking Sam. He leaned against the doorpost, eyes on Dean. "We shouldn't worry, Cass. He's gonna be fine."

"When?"

The Winchester swallowed thickly. "Soon. He has to."

Castiel desperately wanted to believe that.

* * *

AN: Please review!

AND IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN SEASON 12 EPISODE 12 OF SPN YET IT IS YOUR CIVIL DUTY GO WATCH AND SHRIVEL IN FEELS I AM DYING OVER HERE. A FAN FICTION-ER IS HOLDING THE WRITERS HOSTAGE I SWEAR.


	3. Tell Your Heart to Beat Again

Chapter 3

Tell Your Heart to Beat Again

There was no gradual waking up. No feeling his fingers and toes and then slowly opening his eyes to a blurry, half lit room. Oh, no.

Consciousness hit Dean Winchester like a train wreck.

He jerked up with a shout and fell to the floor, tangled in the blankets. His heart beat in his throat, and he was certain something horrible had happened. He just couldn't remember what.

Panicked, Dean scrambled out of the blankets and took to his feet. He glanced around the room and spotted a shoe on the ground. Picking it up, he hoisted it.

Okay, so it wasn't his best weapon but he would make do.

He started out of the room, his bare feet making no noise on the hardwood floors.

At the doorway, Dean paused, and logic seeped into his panicked brain. He blinked and suddenly recognised his surroundings.

Bobby's. He was at Bobby's house.

How the heck did he get here?

He looked down at himself, realizing he was wearing some of the pyjamas he and Sam had packed in the Impala, and Dean relaxed marginally.

Cautious, he crept down the stairs. He skipped over the stair he knew had a nasty creek, and followed the sound of low murmurs coming from Bobby's living room.

"I'll go check," said a familiar voice.

As someone came around the corner, Dean raised the shoe reflexively.

It was Cass. 'Sept this Cass was different. For one, he wasn't wearing the same clothes he always wore and was instead clad in a loose blue t-shirt and jeans Dean was pretty sure came out of his closet. But there was something else different Dean couldn't quite place.

Cass stood there in the doorway, obviously shocked. "Dean?" he finally managed. "You're awake. You're okay."

Before Dean could respond, he was suddenly tackled in fierce hug by all one-hundred and sixty pounds of the angel he'd come to call friend. He stiffened in surprise. "Um. Hi, Cass."

Cass took a step back quickly, and they separated. He looked slightly embarrassed. "My apologies, Dean. Sam has taught me I do not have to act as my emotions might dictate, but I find this difficult to put into practice."

Dean blinked. "Uh, what?"  
Suddenly Cass noticed the shoe in Dean's hand, and his eyes squinted in suspicion and maybe a bit of humor. "Were you going to hit me with that?"

Dean dropped the shoe. "No."

"You're lying," the angel stated matter-of-factly.

Before he could get in a response, Sam ducked into the room. His face lit up ("Dean!") and Dean was wrapped in yet another hug.

"Okay, okay!" he protested. "What is with all the friggin' hugs? You guys are acting like I was at death's door."  
Sam groaned and stepped back, and Dean noted the very real relief on his face. Castiel wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. "Death does not own a door, as far as I am aware, but if he did-"

"You were asleep for nearly a week," Sam interrupted.

Dean's eyes widened. "What? Why? What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"No. Where's Bobby?"

Sam nodded toward the room behind them. "Asleep in there." He raised his voice. "Bobby, Dean's awake!" He turned back to Dean and looked him over with concern. "Are you alright? Nothing… weird?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Eh… not that I know?"

"Oh. Okay, good."

"...Yeah."

They walked into the living room, which was cluttered with books and pits of papers. It was clear that someone had been sleeping on the couch recently. Bobby, who was asleep at his desk, rubbed open his eyes and smiled. "About time, you idjit."

Dean sat down carefully in a kitchen chair. There was something… wrong about this situation. What was going on? Something in the air. Something in the energy of the people around him. Different. Outside, a storm crackled and spit irritably and cast a variety of mutated shadows across the cluttered room. Cass brushed past him, grabbed a bag of chips and collapsed onto the couch with a grin. Dean blinked.

Sam followed inside and glared at the angel. "Dude. Those are mine. If you want some, go get your own."

In response, Cass supplied the sassiest look Dean had ever witnessed on the man and got up, apparently to get his own bag of chips. Dean's wide eyes trailed after him. He finally turned to Sam, questions clear on his face. "Um," he whispered. "What is wrong with Cass?"

Sam winced. He opened his mouth to respond, but Cass came back in with his food of choice. He shook the sealed bag, turned it over, shook it again and then glared at it irritably. He looked up, seeming to feel their gazes on him, and his eyes met Dean's. He cocked his head. "I am extremely relieved," he said seriously. "That the destruction of my Grace did not render you comatose or deceased."

Dean's mouth dropped open. He automatically glanced at Sam for confirmation of what he'd just heard. Sam nodded. Thunder rumbled.

"What?" Dean exclaimed. "Destruction of your…"

Suddenly, it clicked. His clothes. The chips. The comment about emotions.

Shoot, Cass even moved different.

"Holy crap," Dean breathed. His eyes zipped up and down his friend, who shifted awkwardly. "You're human. He's human, isn't he?"

Bobby nodded.

Castiel sighed dramatically and dropped back onto the couch. His finger fiddled at the base of his neck unconsciously. "There is nothing holy about excrement, Dean."

Dean ignored that comment. "How did that happen? You can't destroy Grace."

Sam frowned at him. "You really don't remember? The witch? Anything?"

Dean thought back. What was he doing before he woke up?

Slowly, a spark of memory caught his attention. It grew into a flame, and he recalled the light. The blue light. And something else… He shook his head. "A witch shouldn't have power like that."

"I thought so as well," Cass answered. "I believe he may have acquired information from other sources. Secrets even I did not know…"

"Who knows secrets about angels that you don't know?"

"The archangels, for one. Lucifer is another."

Oh, yeah. Dean often forgot that the devil was actually a fallen angel. "Why would they tell a random witch?"

Cass shrugged. "I do not know. It is not a move I would anticipate from Raphael or Michael, which makes me think it was probably Lucifer looking to cause mayhem. Which he has."

Sam sighed and rested his elbows against his knees. "Do you remember anything else, Dean?"

Dean thought about it. "Wings," he said solidly. Cass's attention was suddenly razor sharp. He cocked his head.

"You saw my wings?"

"I don't know. That's what they seemed to be." Dean racked his brain. "They… they disintegrated." As he spoke, horror filled him. They'd disintegrated.

Now the angel (or, er, former angel) looked distinctly uncomfortable. He chewed his cheek. "Yes," he said quietly.

It hit Dean all at once how agonizing that must have felt. "Gods, Cass." He studied his friend's face, but Cass had covered whatever he was feeling with a very blank expression. He may not understand angels completely, but Dean got the idea that wings were treasures. Gifts. They were as a part of them as an arm or a leg. And more than that, they were a manifestation of their Grace; the essence of their being and the source of their power.

And some freaking witch had stolen that from his friend. Memories of the time Dean had spent in the future with a very broken, very human Castiel came bubbling to the surface. He could picture the man's manic grin perfectly. It was seared into his mind.

That won't happen this time. I won't let it.

"So help me," he growled. "Sammy, if that witch hasn't been pumped full of iron-"

"The last I saw him," Sam interrupted, "he'd been reduced to a pile of ash. He was right in front of Cass when it happened."

Bobby's eyes widened at this new bit of information.

And Dean found he didn't have the slightest bit of sympathy for the guy. He simmered. The room was quiet but for the rain pattering on the metal roof of the porch. Cass's voice hit the air.

"It's alright, Dean," he said wearily. "I was already cut off from Heaven. This was an inevitability. It was just… quicker than I expected."

Dean grunted and crossed his arms. It was not alright. He was about to say as much when a thought occurred to him. He frowned in confusion. "If the jerk was nothing but sandbox filler… how the heck am I alive? I wasn't that much farther behind him."

Silence met these words. Dean cocked his head waiting. The three men glanced uneasily at each other. "Seriously? No ideas?"

"It is completely illogical," Cass offered unhelpfully.

"A miracle," Sam murmured.

A miracle. Dean frowned. "We're not in the business of getting miracles." He reflexively adopted a doubtful expression.

"There don't seem to be an explanation, Dean," Bobby put in. "And it ain't like this is the first time."

Dean knew exactly what he was referencing. After Sam set Lucifer free, they should have died in the blast of power. But, just like now, they had been miraculously saved. He mulled this over, eyes on his hands. He wound his fingers together and chewed on his lip. He didn't like this. These random miracles. It did not sit well in his stomach, and he really didn't want to owe anyone anything. "Well," he said eventually. "What do we do now?"

Numerous shrugs.

Cass attempted to open his bag of chips again. He spoke simply and confidently. "I suppose you keep on doing what you always do. Saving the world."

Dean smiled a bit. Watching Cass struggle with the bag turned the smile into a smirk. He stretched out a hand and took it from him after a moment. He pulled open the bag and handed it back to Cass.

"Alright," Dean said softly. "That's what we'll do, then."

* * *

After tossing for an hour or so, Dean sat up and ran a hand through his hair. The moonlight spilled through the curtains and washed over Sam. He was fast asleep with his hair splayed over his eyes. They were sharing the bedroom, and Cass was in another one across the hall. There was an air of calm and peace that covered his little brother, and Dean found himself remembering the times he'd watched Sam sleep when they were younger.

When Sam was maybe ten (which would have made Dean fourteen?), Dean remembered taking him out to an old tree house he found in the forest behind their current school. They'd been in Utah. Sam went on and on about the comet lights that were supposed to rain down that night and how sad it was they couldn't see the stars from inside the motel room. The light pollution was too great in the city.

Dad was gone for more than a week with another hunter and there was nothing stopping them.

"Are you sure, Dean? What if-?"

"Don't be such a wuss, Sammy. I promise you'll like it."

They got in the Impala, left behind by Dad this time, and threw some sleeping bags in the backseat. It took about thirty minutes to reach the school, and when Dean showed Sammy the treehouse, the kid's face was worth the punishment he might receive if Dad ever found out they did this. Sam babbled about stars and comets and things Dean had no idea about as he scrambled up the ladder. Dean threw up the sleeping bags and then climbed after him. They spread the bags out and lay on their backs, the sky open and wide before them.

Sam gestured wildly and pointed out the constellations he'd learned about in astronomy class, and Dean squinted up at the little lights.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

Dean smiled inwardly, glowing with satisfaction. On the outside, he shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever, princess. This is better than staying in a motel all night."

"Yeah... Oh! _Oh_ , Dean, did you see that? I think it's starting."

Soon, shooting star after star danced across the sky, streaking white light across their upturned faces. They gasped and pointed and laughed, and, after a while, they were silent, just watching. "You should make a wish or something, Sam," Dean said with a bit of a smirk. "Aren't you supposed to do something like that?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

"Then do it."

Sam thought. Finally, he nodded in decision. "I wish for… this."

Dang. The kid knew how to tug his strings. Dean proceeded to say something obnoxious and a bit rude, but on the inside, he was content. There were not many times Dean could say he was truly content.

After a while, he looked down at Sam to see the ten year old kid asleep, Dean's arm as a pillow.

Dean smiled at the memory. He hadn't thought about that in years. He'd forgotten he used to do stuff like that with Sam.

He stood up from the bed and stretched his back.

Fine. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well do something productive. Dean was about to head downstairs when Sam moaned. Dean paused and turned.

Sam gasped and tangled in his sheets, and Dean pursed his lips. They both had their fair share of nightmares, and Dean knew there was a little chance he could wake his little brother up. He'd tried before on other nights.

All the same, Dean walked quietly to Sam's bed and shook his shoulder gently. "Sam," he whispered. "Sammy, wake up."

He had no effect. Sam's brow furrowed, and he breathed rapidly. What was he dreaming about this time? Sam wasn't really nightmare prone (unlike himself) and only got them after something particularly grimy they'd pulled through. "Sam," he tried again. This time, he swiped the hair out of Sam's eyes. To his surprise, his brother calmed beneath his touch. His breath evened, and his expression smoothed.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Huh. Alrighty then.

He took a step back, and, when Sam continued to sleep peacefully, Dean shrugged and walked out. Whatever works, right?

He walked quietly down the stairs, fetched a beer from the fridge reflexively, and opened the screen door to step into the chill outside. It was cold and a bit wet, but, to be honest, it didn't bother him all that much. He pushed himself up onto the porch railing and stared into the night. His feet dangled above the gravel, and the shadows of the piled scrapyard looked distorted and unusual in the darkness. Like the ruins of an ancient city.

He took a swig of the bitter liquid and frowned when he didn't feel the usual buzz that accompanied alcohol, no matter how small. He rolled his eyes and took another drink.

Productive. Right. This was being so productive.

He drank the bottle and stared thoughtfully out at the world that was probably going to end soon if they didn't do something about it. Another swig.

As he sat there, staring out at nothing, time seemed to lose meaning. What felt like seconds later, he was aware of the sun slowly rising. The air took on the gray tone of morning; crisp and new. He inhaled deeply and moved for what had to have been the first time in hours. He rubbed his eyes and dropped the bottle into a dew-covered planter full of weeds under his feet. Brushing himself off, Dean was surprised to see dew had settled on him as well.

Dean frowned. He must have fallen asleep. Balanced on the railing.

He hadn't _felt_ asleep. Time just sort of… slipped. But that was probably the alcohol. That made sense. He'd drunk and fallen asleep and somehow managed to stay on the friggin railing.

Shaking his head, Dean stretched and hopped down. To his surprise, his muscles didn't ache. As the occupants of the house began to stir, Dean entered the house quietly and sat down at the kitchen table to read a newspaper Bobby had laid out.

As he read, Dean's eyebrows rose.

Well. If that wasn't suspicious, he didn't know what was.

It looked like they had a job. Dean smiled a bit.

Back to work. As Cass said, keep on saving the world.

For the first time in a long time, Dean couldn't wait to start. Something was different in the air. It tasted sharper and crisper. Like it was waiting for him.

Dean wasn't sure exactly what was different, but he liked it.

* * *

AN: Please leave a review :)))


	4. Somebody That I Used To Know

Chapter 4

Somebody That I Used to Know

When Sam came stomping down the stairs, he yawned, ran a hand through his tangled hair. Figments of a fading dream drifted through his mind like spiderwebs in the wind. It had been a good dream, he thought. Dean was there. They lay on their backs looking at… something.

Whatever.

He stopped in surprise to see Dean awake and dressed at the kitchen table. His brother was not usually a morning person.

"You're up early," he noted. He sat down at the kitchen table with him, and Dean shrugged. He had a strange distance in his eyes Sam did not know how to describe. After a second, his brother shook himself out of whatever he'd been thinking and tossed Sam a bag of gas station powdered donuts. "Breakfast." He smirked at Sam's disapproving look.

Sam opened the bag and ate one of the mini donuts. Trying to appear like he wasn't, he watched his brother carefully. For any sign.

He wanted to take this 'miracle' at face value and be grateful Dean was alive (and he was grateful, extremely), but something irked him in his gut. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and he knew it.

After a second, Dean's green eyes flicked to Sam's. He frowned through a mouthful of donut. "Dude. Stop staring at me." Although, it sounded more like _Du'. Sawp sarin' ah meh._

Apparently, Sam wasn't as discrete as he thought he was. He rolled his eyes and tugged over a newspaper Dean had in front of him. He read it quickly and cocked his head. "This is a job. You want to do a job right now?"

Dean shrugged and swallowed the donut with a grimace. His knee bounced energetically. "These are disgusting. Remind me to never getting donuts from that station again."

Sam just raised his eyebrows and waited for an answer to his original question. Eventually, Dean licked the power from his lips. "Why wait? I feel fine."

"Yeah, but Dean-"

Dean groaned. "Sammy, come on. This is clearly possession of some type, and it's not like evil crap is gonna wait politely until we're ready to hunt it down." He started to pick up another donut, but thought better of it and put it back down. His knee continued to bounce. "And besides, I'm gonna jump out of my skin if I don't _do_ something."

Sam nodded slowly. O...kay. "Alright. Fine. If you're sure you're up to it."

"I'm sure."

Sam spun the newspaper completely toward him and read aloud. " _Kindergarten teacher, Mary Drew was arrested this morning after she was caught in the act of locking children in cupboards and fetching them after hours. Three of the kidnapped children have been found with serious blood loss. The four others were found dead in her forest cabin just a few hours later…_ Wow. Uh… vampire? Vampire teacher."

Dean shook his head. He pointed down further down the article. "She apparently doesn't remember anything that has happened in the last month."

"Demon."

"Or ghost possession."

"That's not a long-term thing."

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it's a sticky SOB."

Sam snorted with a smirk. He nodded. Alright. They could swing back into this. It was better than sitting around waiting for the world to end.

"Where's Cass?" Dean asked with a frown.

"Asleep, I think."

"Ah."

Sam chewed his lip as a thought occurred to him. "He's got a really weird sleeping schedule, Like, he just falls asleep in the middle of the day sometimes, or he'll stay up almost all night and crash."

"He probably is waiting until he's exhausted before giving in."

Sam hummed in agreement.

They fell into comfortable silence until Dean chewed his lip. "How is he? Like, this whole thing has got to be..."

Sam nodded somberly. "Honestly? I don't really know. Sometimes he seems okay. Like last night. He helps Bobby translate something and reads and is all curious about everything. But," Sam grimaced. "then some days he gets this blank look on his face and he'll just stare at his hands for hours. Won't eat or sleep or talk or move. He flicks back and forth totally randomly." He gave Dean a look and lowered his voice. "It's not like I didn't expect it, but it... I'm still worried about the guy."

And now Dean was as well. More than before. Dean pursed his lips as Sam continued. Sam sat back in his chair and ran a tired hand over his face.

"He's this ancient being but I don't think he ever had emotions, _real_ emotions, before this. So he ends up with the logic of someone a bazillion years old and the emotional control of a ten year old. It's... jarring."

Dean sat back as well and drummed his fingers on the table too. "Huh. That's... Huh."

"I have no idea what to do with him."

"Have you tried 'talking' to him?"

Sam nodded his head, resigned. "Yes. But he just clams up. I've been waiting for you. I think you'll have more luck than me."

Dean frowned. "Why the heck would I have more luck than you?"

Immediately, Sam gave him a 'seriously?' look. "Dude, we're talking about the same guy, right? This is Cass. 'Dean and I share a more profound bond' Cass."

Dean snorted at Sam's imitation, and a grin managed to wriggle out from beneath his worry. "That was the gayest thing I've had a guy say to me, and he doesn't even realize."

Sam snickered. The conversation hit a lull, and after a moment of comfortable silence, Sam exhaled a long sigh. "I'm gonna go get dressed so we can go figure out this teacher lady."

Dean murmured his agreement, and Sam could feel Dean's gaze following him across the room and up the stairs.

In the hallway upstairs, he paused and looked back down. He could just barely see Dean in the other room from this position. His brother was leaning forward with his elbows on the table. One hand nervously tapped out a beat Sam couldn't hear, and the other one he wrapped around the back of his neck.

He looked perfectly fine. Totally normal.

Sam relaxed. He was being ridiculous.

Dean was fine.

* * *

Castiel cocked his head at his reflection. He ruffled his wet hair with his hand and squinted at himself.

His eyes were so blue. Remarkably so.

Before, he hadn't really taken the time to notice the appearance of his vessel. It was unimportant.

Sometimes he forgot what he was now.

This was no longer a vessel. Jimmy Novak was in Heaven, and Cass was stuck with this form. There was no chance he would ever see his own face again. This realization left an empty pain in his chest. He didn't know what the feeling was called but he felt it a lot lately. Funny how emotions were physical sensations.

Sighing, he looked away and exited the bathroom dressed in another pair of Dean's jeans (Dean and him were almost the same size but Sam said they'd need to get him clothes of his own soon) and a dark green shirt (also Dean's).

He walked down the stairs and followed the sounds of the other humans in this house. Bobby Singer's house. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he entered the living room. Outside, Sam was busy getting something from the Impala. Was he going somewhere?

An irrational spark of fear slipped through him, and Castiel suppressed it with an eye roll in his own expense. This was getting pathetic. _He_ was getting pathetic. There was no need to be afraid of them leaving. It was an inevitability, Cass supposed. The logical course of action. They were hunters and certainly did not want to stay at Bobby's forever.

Yes.

Castiel chewed his lip.

Before he could start considering what that would all entail, Cass sat down in one of the worn armchairs and picked up the book he'd been reading before Dean came tumbling down the stairs with a shoe as a weapon the night before.

His book was some novel about wolves and dog fights and snow, and Cass had never read a novel before. He'd glimpsed parts of them, but never had time to sit and read cover to cover. Which was strange since it was only now that his time was limited.

What had he been doing the eternity before now?

Cass found over the last week he enjoyed reading. He enjoyed books and stories and the wonderfully complex people humans managed to make, no matter how unrealistically happy they ended up. He did not have the faintest idea how humans managed it. It was creation. From their own minds and abilities. He didn't think any other creature was capable of such a thing. Including angels.

Perhaps he could learn this skill.

He heard the familiar gait of his friend and considered not looking up. He'd make leaving easier on the both of them and just ignore Dean.

"Hey, Cass."

Or not.

"Dean." He looked up and gave the man a small smile in spite of himself. Dean was good. Dean made sense. He was solid.

Alright, so he didn't always make sense, but he usually explained himself, which no one else took the time to.

Dean looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. "Um... are you coming or what?"

Cass blinked.

His brain rushed to catch up with what he's just heard. "What?"

"We've got a job down town-ish. Figured you'd rather help than layin' around here all day."

Cass processed these words. Humans were complex, he knew. Words could not always be taken at face value. Did he mean what he said or was this a courtesy; the type to be politely declined? Cass had no idea.

He settled on a middle of the road response. "Dean, I am not a hunter," he said matter of factly. "nor do I have any real uses at the moment. I will just get in the way."

Dean Winchester was the first human Castiel had had more than a passing conversation with, and he thought he understood Dean to a decent degree. The man's response still surprised him. He snorted and gave him a look. "Cass, I want you to come with or without wings. Besides, you hang around a house too long, and you'll melt into the furniture."

Castiel highly doubted he would do any such thing, but the reassurance overcame his confusion. He cocked his head and decided Dean appeared to be sincere. He realized he hoped that he was. It was more difficult to discern intentions when all he could see was the man's face. His soul was locked away somewhere Cass knew he'd never glimpse again.

So when Dean held out his hand, Cass shut his book and took it. He hoisted him to his feet and then looked Castiel up and down.

"Are those mine?" He gestured to the clothes Cass wore.

Cass nodded. "Yes. I hope you do not mind."

Dean shook his head. "No, it's fine. Just weird to see you in normal clothes. We should probably get you some of your own stuff when we're in town."

"I would appreciate that."

With that, Dean smirked, slapped him on the shoulder playfully, and started for the door.

Cass trailed a bit uncertainly after Dean and decided he did not really understand Dean at all.

Uncertainty. That wasn't a new feeling. It was just much more difficult to swallow now.

He hesitated on the porch as Dean said something to Sam. Sam got into the passenger seat of the Impala, and when Dean opened the driver's side door, he raised his hands in question. "Dude, come on. Monsters aren't gonna kill themselves!"

That was as much an invitation as any. Deciding he could only assume Dean was attempting to be kind, Cass crunched down the driveway and ducked into the backseat of the car.

The doors shut, and Dean revved the engine. Cass couldn't see his face but he could picture the grin that must be on it. "Aw, I missed you, Baby," he said with a laugh.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're such a freak."

"Shut up. You're just mad cause she loves me better, jerk."

"I doubt the automobile is capable of emotion," Cass inserted dryly as they turned around in the scrapyard.

Dean just swatted at him. "Shhh, you'll hurt her feelings."

And Cass found himself capable of a smile. He shifted in the back seat as they took to the main road. "So... What exactly are we doing?"

"Fill him in, Sam," Dean said, his hands on the wheel.

In response, Sam turned around in his seat and tossed Cass a newspaper. "So, there's this insane kindergarten teacher..."

For now, things were alright.

* * *

AN: And there you have this week's chapter! Hope you guys are enjoying this story so far. Reviews are literally golden cupcakes of fantasticalness. Please REVIEW. I'd love to hear what you are thinking.


	5. Thinking Out Loud

5\. Thinking Out Loud

Dean re-tied Castiel's sloppily done tie with a smirk. "There. Let's do this." Then he noticed it. A small frown tugged at his lips, and he pulled down Castiel's collar to reveal the stripe of slightly raised skin. The ring was about the thickness of his pinky and would probably leave a scar when it healed. "Jeesh, Cass," he breathed. "Does that hurt?"

Castiel shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Yes. But it will heal."

His jaw tightened angrily. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "No."

"Liar."

"My wrists, but those are nearly healed now."

A sliver of guilt worked its way under Dean's skin, and he dropped his hands. _This is my fault_. He'd been the one to call Cass for as backup. He'd been the one to send him up there alone. And look what that witch did to him.

Cass didn't seem to notice the sudden change in demeanor. He frowned down at the tie. He was wearing an extra one of the suits they had stashed in the trunk. Sighing, Castiel loosened the tie, and his fingers brushed again across the spot at the base of his neck. It appeared to be a new habit of his. "I don't think this is a good idea, Dean. I-"

Dean pushed his thoughts away and gave him a sudo-serious look. "No. Don't do that. Just copy me, and you'll be fine."

Castiel mulled over this and nodded.

"Good." Dean nodded sharply as well and started across the street. They were in a little town with a name Dean had already forgotten. It was about two hours away from Bobby's, Ancient trees lined the streets, littering the ground with golden leaves. The smell of bread drifted from a local bakery. A beautiful place to live, Dean noted. Although, it was strange to smell something so good when you were about to enter a morgue. Dean wasn't hungry, but both Sam and Cass had glanced at the source of the smell when they exited the Impala. Across the street, someone was setting up a local carnival complete with a Ferris wheel, a haunted house, a merry-go-round, and several clowns. Dean smirked at it. "We should chuck Sam in there."

As Dean and Cass crossed the road, Sam, who was already inside, pushed open the glass door and gave them a tight smile. Next to him stood a portly, balding man in a lab coat. An M.E., Dean reasoned. He fished out his fake badge with ease and tried not to look at Castiel as Cass fumbled to do the same. They entered the building, and Dean adopted a persona he'd been donning on occasion for years now.

"I am agent Jovi, and this is my partner agent Degraw. I see you've already met agent Vance."

The M.E. rewarded this announcement with a disinterested eyebrow. "Uh huh. Look, no offense, but I don't see what's got the FEDs involved. The woman is locked up. Kids are in the hospital-"

"Sir, we are just following up as we were told to by our superiors," Sam interrupted in a calm but firm voice.

A grunt. "Fine. You want to see the bodies, I assume?"

Three nods.

With a sigh, the man turned around and waddled (like seriously, waddled) toward the door. He gestured for them to follow, and Dean tugged at Cass's sleeve to get him moving.

They entered the morgue, and the M.E. rolled out three bodies. Children.

They stared. Two boys and a girl. No older than ten.

The reason for the M.E.'s grumpiness was now apparent. He was upset about these deaths.

Adopting a suitable solemn air, Dean approached the body of the little blonde girl. She had cuts across her neck and body. "Cuts were done by fingernails," the M.E. grunted. "And teeth. Crazy monster. How could someone do something like this to children?"

Cass, who was looking down at the body of the girl with distinct sadness, spoke up. "We believe the woman who did it was possessed by a demon."

The M.E. blinked.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"He's kidding," With a glare in Cass's direction that Cass didn't see or ignored, Sam pulled the sheet off the face of one of the little boys. "Although some kind of satanic ritual does not seem far off..."

The M.E. nodded and then sighed. "If you guys need me, I'll be in the other room. The girl's aunt is going to be here to identify the body."

They all murmured their consent and were silent until the door clicked shut behind.

Dean looked up and gave Cass a look.

"What?"

"Dude, you can't just tell people the truth."

Castiel's eyes bounced between the two of them. He cocked his head. "Why not? Shouldn't they know?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, but without proof, you'll just seem crazy. And that's not going to get you where you need to go."

Cass gave a slow nod as he worked that out. "Then what do I do?"

"You lie."

"How do I do that?"

Dean sighed and pinched between his eyes. He covered the girl and made his way to the door. "You just _don't_ say what's true, Cass. There's nothing we can see from these. Come on."

As he exited, he caught a distinctly irritated grumble from the former angel, and he smirked. Alright, so they'd work on the lying thing. As they passed through hallways which smelled like lemon perfume and were covered with wallpaper of the same color, someone's voice met Dean's ears. He paused on the tiles and held up a hand to stop Sam and Cass behind him.

"T-that's her," a woman said with a sob. Dean frowned and carefully nudged open an old door on the left. Inside the room, a large window looked out into the morgue, where the girl's corpse was. The M.E. said nothing, hands clasped behind his back. Next to him, a young blonde woman's shoulders shook as she stared rigidly at, presumably, her niece.

But something wasn't right. There was this air of... smugness? The woman was _not_ as broken up by her niece's death as she appeared. Dean squinted suspiciously.

"Dean," Sam whispered from behind him. "What is it?"

He pursed his lips and pulled the door shut. "Lady's a liar." With that, he turned on his heels and left, leaving Sam and Cass to catch up with him. Which they did a moment later, exchanging glances.

Dean pushed open the front door and started down the sidewalk, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

"What do you mean, Dean?" Cass asked.

What _did_ he mean?

"She was just... I dunno. Murky, I guess." There were no words he could think of to accurately describe the darkness that seemed to hang around the aunt. Dean fished his keys out of his pocket and opened the driver's door of the Impala. Sam gave him a raised eyebrow. "Look," Dean drummed absently on the roof of the car with his thumbs. "You do this long enough, you get an instinct about these things. Trust me, the aunt is mixed up somehow." That's what it was, surely; a hunter's instinct.

Sam shrugged, apparently trusting him. "Alright. I'll check her out." He ducked into the car.

Cass attempted to do the same, but had trouble with the handle, to Dean's amusement.

He chuckled. "You pull it."

Cass glared at him and opened the door. "I have it, thank you."

Dean got in as well and revved the engine. All three of them were much more subdued than they were entering the morgue. The death of a child was not something taken lightly. It was sick and anger swirled in Dean's stomach.

"So... we check out killer lady's cabin next?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded, hands tight on the wheel. "Let's gank this creep."

* * *

They parked the car down the dirt road near an old, wooden cabin that was slightly slouched. The forest buzzed and hummed around them and birds fluttered out of a tree when they drove up. As they walked up to the house, Castiel shoved his hands deep in his pockets and studied that back of his companions' heads absently.

It was disconcerting not knowing who was human or not at a glance. Cass was accustomed to simply seeing the souls of everything around him. And souls were very telling and very bright.

Now, they were relying on facial 'cues', smells, sounds, and a bit of intuition.

He didn't like it, and he didn't think he was very good at it.

All the same, it was Castiel who first smelled sulfur. The cabin where the police found the children, both dead and alive, was roped off with caution tape, but no one was there anymore. Castiel asked about this and Sam had explained to him that there was no need to keep anyone here. The murderer had been apprehended and the kids saved. It was just a creepy house now.

 _What am I doing?_ Cass thought to himself. He wasn't a hunter. Why were they taking him along again?

Sighing, he followed instructions and searched the perimeter for anything suspicious while Dean and Sam went inside past the caution tape. There was nothing out here. Nothing he could see.

As he searched for, as Dean put it, _anything weird or bloody_ , his mind wandered.

He didn't like wandering thoughts. They almost always ended up places they were not supposed to be and thought things they should never think. He wondered what his garrison was doing now. They had mostly broken up after he left, but he knew Balthazar was still out there somewhere... Benjamin? Bartholomew? Where did they go when Castiel chose the Winchesters over Heaven? Benjamin was still young, in comparison to himself and the other originals. He was one of the angels who was upgraded when he died a long time ago. Most of his garrison had been made up of those upgraded souls, actually. Most angels didn't like them, because, after all, they used to be 'dirty apes'. But Castiel had found they possessed an ingenuity many original angels lacked.

A rotten smell got Cass's attention, and he untangled himself from his thoughts. He wrinkled his nose. Where was that smell coming from? He followed it behind the house and into the forest.

Nothing. Everything was quiet and normal. But it smelled like rotten eggs. Was that what sulfur smelled like to humans? He thought so. So where was it coming from?

He took a step forward and stopped. The ground was different here. Hard. Kneeling, Cass brushed away the dirt and leaves to reveal a metal cellar door. Now he was getting somewhere... With a grunt, he heaved up the massive thing. A putrid smell wafted out of it, and he nearly gagged.

He took a deep breath, and then descended the stairs into the old cellar.

Everything was red at the bottom. The walls. The floor. The ceiling.

Red.

Castiel was relatively certain it wasn't paint. The smell of sulfur was overpowering. Some demon spent a _lot_ of time down here. His stomach curled in disgust. Demons were disgusting. Horrific.

He should tell Dean about this. He flicked his phone out and pressed one of his two contacts.

"Find something, Cass?"

Cass nodded and remembered Dean couldn't see him. "Yes. It is definitely a demon. I found a cellar out back that absolutely reeks of sulfur and... other things."

Dean cursed softly. "Alright. We'll be out in a sec."

"Oh, and Dean-"

Castiel would have said something more, but suddenly his phone flew from his hand and shattered on the concrete wall.

Castiel froze.

Was it here?

He was very aware all at once how fragile humans are. A single snap, a pinch in the right place, and there; you're done. Slowly, Castiel turned around. In the doorway stood an unfamiliar man with a nasty word tattooed on his forehead. He smirked, and his eyes flicked black.

"Now, what have we got here," the demon purred. "A nice little treat. I do love order-in."

He took a step down, and Castiel drew his sword. The demon raised its eyebrows. "Where'd you get a sticker like that, hmm? Pawn shop?"

"It's mine," he growled. He lunged for the thing, but the demon stopped the blade in the air before it touched him. He shifted his hand, and Castiel blanched. The sword turned slowly toward Cass, who struggled to drop it. The demon stuck out a pouting lip. "I don't think so, sweetheart."

The blade edged closer and closer to his throat. _Dean! Get out here, Dean!_

Suddenly, the demon dropped to the ground with a thud, and Dean appeared behind it with a grin. He hefted a log from a pile of wood behind the house. "I can hear you, Cass. You don't have to shout."

Cass dropped the sword to his side in relief. Before either of them could move, however, the demon twitched and black smoke flew out of its mouth, above the trees and away.

Dean glared after it irritably. "I hate demons."

"I share your sentiment." Cass tucked his sword into a belt loop and clambered out of the cellar. Dean took his hand and hefted him out the last bit of the way.

"You okay?"

Cass scowled. "I'm fine."

Dean only answered with a smirk. "Yeah, right. You were practically screaming for me to come and save you."

With a cock of his head, Cass wondered, was this a human 'saying' he'd yet to come across? "No, I wasn't. I am not a child, Dean."

Before Dean could reply with a suitably cheeky and obnoxious response, Sam jogged around the corner. "Sheesh, Dean. Where'd you go? What happ-? Oh." He stopped before the dead meat suit. "So… definitely a demon."

"Yep. Cass was an idiot and tried to take it on by himself."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Cass, demons are powerful creatures. You can't just do that."

Cass knew the anger brewing in his stomach was irrational. He found he did not care all that much. "I am well aware of the power of demons. It was not my _intention_ to be attacked from behind."

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved his shoulder. "Come on, you baby. We're going to creepy aunt lady's place next. Figure out what the demon is doing here."

* * *

AN: And on that note, chapter 5 is at its end. I actually updated pretty fast this week because this story is just pouring out. Anyway, if you enjoyed, please REVIEW. Thanks for reading!


	6. Guns In My Head

6\. Guns In My Head

"Cass, you know I'm not patronizing you, right?" Dean looked up and down the burger joint's menu critically.

Cass glanced up from his menu with a blank look. "What do you mean?" He and Castiel were seated around a table just a block or two down from the house of the crazy aunt. The blue and green themed restaurant was filled with pops and sizzles from the kitchen. Pop music played in the background.

Dean shifted in his seat. "I _know_ you're a warrior and a good one, human or not. You've been around a heck of a lot longer than the rest of us. I didn't take you along because you… I don't know. We took you because we could use the help, and you're our friend."

Cass considered this. A flash of irritation went through his eyes. "I wasn't much help, though, was I?"

Dean snickered. "Well, hunters do things differently. You have to get used to it. It's like, you're used to being a Redcoat and now you've got to be a colonist."

Cass blinked as he digested this metaphor. "A red… coat?"

Dean nodded. As it turned out, he had paid minimal attention in history class. Especially when it had to do with warfare. "Yeah, a Redcoat. All guns and bang and bright colors and straight lines and battalions. That sort of fighting only works in some situations. When you're on the bad side of, like, _everything_ , you can't just… you know, charge blindly at a demon without expecting it to stop you." He gave Cass a look, to which the angel received with a carefully blank face. He nodded slowly as if he understood.

It was fairly obvious Castiel had no idea what he was saying. Dean sighed. It was a start. "Alright. Never mind. Let's get back to the demon. We know demon creep likes messing up kids. So... we find someplace with lots of kids, and catch it."

Cass nodded. "Where do children congregate?" He looked down at his own menu. "Also, what is the purpose of 'deep frying'?"

"Just get a burger," Dean closed his own menu with a snap and glanced out at the window irritably. "Sam was supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

"Maybe the interview ran long."

Dean gave a noncommittal hum. "Okay, seriously, though. If you were a demon who targeted kids, where would you attack?"

Cass squinted in thought. "I would go somewhere where there is lots of children and minimal supervision. Probably somewhere dark and crowded?"

Dean clasped his hands on the table. Was there some place that met those requirements? He racked his brain and came up empty. Dean sighed, and a pretty girl with red hair and dimples approached their table.

Well. At least they had a hot waitress.

"Welcome to Billy's Home Burgers," she said to Cass. "Are you ready to order?"

Castiel blinked "Or...der?"

"Your food?" She smiled at him, and Castiel's brain seemed to finally catch up.

"Oh. Right. Food." He told her quickly what he wanted, and the woman turned politely to Dean. He smirked on reflex, to which her smile only became more strained. Okay then. No action.

"I'll, um, I'll have whatever he just got."

The woman nodded, jotted onto her notepad, and left with a flick of her hair and a parting look in Cass's direction. Dean snorted. Glancing confusedly at him, Cass drummed his fingers absently on the table. "How long does it take for the food to get here?"

"It's not instantaneous if that's what you think. Probably ten minutes."

Castiel stared. "Ten minutes? Everything always takes forever down here."

Across the room, a bell chimed, and Dean glanced up to see his brother's enter with a thoughtful look. He waved, and Sam walked over, pulled up a chair, and sat down.

"So?" Dean asked in a low voice. "What's the word?"

Sam just looked at Dean. Studied him, actually. Finally, he chewed his lip and spoke. "Turns out, niece lived with her aunt for three years after her parents died. Aunt was supposed to inherit some money from her sister, but ended up just getting custody of the niece."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Ouch, okay. I'm guessing she wasn't happy about that."

"I talked to aunt and poked around a bit. The girl and the aunt didn't seem to like each other so I did a bit more investigating and…" He grimaced. "I found a cupboard in the girl's closet with nail marks on the inside. Which is pretty obviously some messed up parenting."

"You think the aunt would lock her in there?"

Sam nodded, and Dean's eyebrows rose. "She wasn't even sad that the girl was gone. Just went on and on about all of the paperwork and legal complications, and how she wondered if the girl's inheritance would get passed to her or some other family member." With a shake of his head, anger flashed through Sam's eyes.

"And you're sure she's human?"

"She's human alright, just a horrible person."

Dean digested this with disgust. "It's freaky how brutal we can be sometimes." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cass's eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"What I want to know," Sam continued, "is how you knew?"

"Knew what?"

Sam gave him a look. "You got a five-second glance at the lady in the morgue and knew automatically that something was up with her. How?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I didn't _know_. I guessed. It was a lucky guess."

"An _extremely_ lucky guess. There's a hunter's instinct, Dean, and then there's-"

"Look, man," Dean interrupted. "I don't know. She just seemed shifty. That's all."

The red haired waitress came up to the table again with a smile and two hamburgers. "Here's your orders, sirs." She set down the food and walked off with another glance at the ever-oblivious Castiel, who picked up his burger. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Could she be more obvious."

"What?"

"Never mind." Dean cleared his throat and looked down at the hamburger. He wasn't really hungry. Like, he wouldn't mind tasting it, but… He pushed the food in Sam's direction. "You want this?"

"You're not hungry?"

"Eh." He shrugged. "I'll eat something later, probably."

Sam nodded and picked up the burger. It wasn't atrociously large, or the sort that looked like a heart attack waiting to happen, but Dean was still surprised he said yes. He must be starving. Then again, they'd kind of skimped on breakfast. And lunch. Dean frowned.

Why wasn't he hungry? Shouldn't he be hungry?

Dean pushed the thought away to focus on the problem at hand. "So do you think the woman is involved with the demon thing?"

Sam shrugged and took another bite. "No idea. No sulfur smells at her house, though. Then again, I had to leave kind of quick. She was meeting with some people at a carnival or something."

Dean frowned and toyed with the fraying edge of the table. "A carnival."

It occurred to both him and Cass at the same time. They locked eyes.

"A dark, crowded place with lots of children and minimal supervision _and_ our creepy aunt woman is hanging out there."

"What are you guys talking about?"

Cass set down his burger. "That is exactly where I would go if I was a demon."

* * *

A mirror maze. How suitably disturbing.

Castiel edged into the maze through the back door when the worker's back was turned, and shut the door behind him. It was dark but for the occasional flash of light reflecting from who knew where. It was very late and most of the guests had gone home.

Now they just had to wait for the demon.

He'd already gone through two haunted houses. Sam and Dean were split up as well, looking for the abomination. They'd meet up inside this maze in… twenty minutes, was it now?

He tucked his hands into his jean pockets and leaned around a corner. Silence.

He flicked on the flashlight Dean gave him, and, instantly, the light reflected off of various walls, illuminating his reflection. Mirror mazes, Castiel decided, were not his favorite thing. He cocked his head at himself in the mirror, and, on reflex, his hand drifted up to touch the base of his neck just beneath the edge of his shirt. He could feel the loss. Right there. The necklace scar seemed very obvious in the drastic light. He'd never had scars before. He would continue to get scars now.

Castiel dropped his hand with a frown.

This was not getting any easier. Not at all. He still felt vaguely guilty about coming along on this little adventure. Not only was he human, he was a remarkably useless one. He should leave. Before he messed anything else up. Sam and Dean's patience would only lost so long. Never had he had to consider that a demon (just some little low life) would be able to stop him. It could _control_ him. He could be _possessed_ now. That was a thing that could happen.

He shook away his thoughts and continued down through the maze. He was nearing the front when a soft sniffing met his ears. He paused.

What was that?

"Hello?" he said quietly.

The snuffling stopped. Someone stood up in the darkness, and Cass's shined light upon her. A red-haired girl wiped her eyes, and Castiel tensed. What was she doing here all alone? This was not a safe place for a child right now. "What are you doing in here?" he asked gently.

The girl sniffed. "Got lost."

Compassion. That was a new thing too.

He came closer, adopted a kind smile, and crouched a bit so that he did not loom over her. "Are your parents here?"

She shook her head. "My aunty takes care of me. I don't know where she went."

Another aunt?

"Does your aunt happen to be have blonde hair and another niece?"

"My sister is on a trip." the girl said with innocent, wide eyes. "She's going to school for a long time."

Castiel frowned. So it _was_ the same aunt. She didn't tell the girl her sister was dead? Was it normal to lie to children about such important things?

More importantly, how did they miss the fact that the aunt had another niece?

"Alright. I'm going to take you out of here. There's a demon who likes to hurt children running loose. Some friends of mine and me are going to catch it."

The girl's eyes went wide. "A-a demon?"

Castiel nodded gravely. "We'll keep you safe. Come on." He extended a hand, and when the little girl took it, her tiny hand was nearly swallowed by his own. He paused, realizing he had to actually figure out how to get out of here. He couldn't just appear outside.

He rolled his eyes at himself (he did a lot of that lately). Honestly, you would think he'd stop forgetting by now.

With a flashlight in one hand, a gun in his pants, and the little girl clinging to his other hand, Castiel navigated the maze. They were nearing the front when a loud _slam_ caused to the little girl to shriek and grab tightly to Castiel's pant leg. He debated for a second between the flashlight and the gun and went for the gun. He cocked it (and realized suddenly he had no idea if he knew how to hit something with this) and shoved the flashlight into his pocket for now.

"Is that the demon?"

"Shh, stay behind me." He pushed her back. He could feel her trembling and crouched to whisper in her ear. "If I say to run, run, okay?"

Little girl nodded seriously. "Okay."

"What's your name?"

"Piper."  
"That's a beautiful name, Piper."

A door banged open and several sets of footsteps came thundering toward them. Wonderful. Castiel griped the girl's shoulders tightly. "Hide."

She disappeared around a corner just as Sam and Dean rounded another corner. They were in a more open part of the maze, with enough room to move about comfortably. Their reflections made the room seem eternally large. "Hell-aunt is right behind us!" Sam shouted. He tossed Cass something. "Do it here."

Instantly, Castiel set to work. "Hell-aunt?"

"Demon possessed her," Dean answered. He looked a little dazed. He frowned thoughtfully. "She was morally weak."

"Dean found her," Sam added, cocking his gun. " _Somehow_." He gave Dean a pointed look that clearly said _you will explain that later_ , but Dean just looked away.

Castiel watched the exchange with a frown, but quickly got to work. Dean was being _strange_ lately.

There was no time to think about that. Panic arched through him, and Cass forced himself to breath. It was just one demon. He'd faced millions. _Not as a powerless human, you haven't._ "There is a child here," he said in a low voice to Dean, who was looking with wides eyes toward the hallway the 'hell-aunt', as they'd dubbed, was supposed to come down.

" _What_?" Dean hissed, his drifting attention suddenly sharp on Cass.

"There were two nieces. The other girl is back there."

Dean blinked, and Castiel could almost see the gears whirring behind his eyes. "How the heck did we not know this?"

Castiel shrugged a bit helplessly, which only made Dean roll his eyes. "Okay," Dean grunted. "Okay. We'll hold hell-aunt back while you get the kid out of here."

Cass nodded. This was the most logical course of action. As he approached her hiding place, the little girl peeked an eye around a corner, and he smiled at her in a way he hoped was reassuring. "Come with me."

He took her hand and was about to lead her back when suddenly his throat closed in on itself. He gagged and fell to his knees. The demon was here. _Run,_ he mouthed at the girl. He shoved her back. But she was rooted in place, eyes wide and terrified.

Behind him, Dean Winchester shouted something profane. " _Holy sh-_ what the heck _are_ you? Let go of him!"

The demon laughed as she stepped into to the room. "Seriously?"

The pressure on Castiel's throat lessened, and he gulped in air eagerly. At his side, the little girl clung to him, and he tried to push her back. He wasn't fast enough. He couldn't get her out of here.

"Auntie?" Piper whimpered.

"Believe me," Dean snapped. "That _thing_ isn't your aunt." He turned to the demon. "You are one ugly friggin' demon."

The demon smirked and cocked her head. Her immaculate hair and makeup just made the image worse. "Oh wonderful, you've got a little one."

Piper gripped Castiel tighter, and he struggled to his feet. Suddenly, Piper was ripped from his hands. She screamed as she flew across the room, only to dangle in the air in front of the demon. The girl gulped and sobbed, and the demon stared at her critically.

"Your aunt really hates you, did you know that? You are a waste of space. Both you and your bratty little sister. She's not even protesting. Not even if I do… this."

Piper flipped upside down and was shaken up and down quickly like a little toy doll. The girl sobbed and screamed and cried out when she evidently bit her tongue.

Castiel felt sick.

To the left, Sam raised a gun and shot the demon in the foot. The sound was deafening in the close quarters and glass shattered. The shot obviously had not harmed the demon, but she paused and sighed irritably.

"Honestly…"

They stepped backward. The demon followed. "How idiotic." And another step. "can you be?"

Piper suddenly dropped from the air, and Dean jumped forward with an almost inhuman speed to catch her before her head hit the floor.

At the same time, the demon realized what she'd fallen for. She'd stepped into a demon trap painted on the floor. As planned.

Demons were many things. Being observant was not one of those things.

Dean smirked. His eyes flickered around the woman, not quite looking at her. "Not as idiotic as you."

Instantly, Sam started reciting the exorcism.

"Go to hell, freak," Dean spat. He dragged Piper away from the circle. Not to his surprise, she was sobbing uncontrollably. Instantly, she untangled herself from Dean and ran into Castiel. Her little arms wrapped around him, and he picked her up.

As the Latin recitation reached its pinnacle, the demon screamed and suddenly began to laugh, long and loud.

No.

"No!"

Before anyone could stop her, the demon reached up and snapped its own neck. The crack seemed horribly loud, and Piper only sobbed harder. _A child shouldn't see this. Ever._

Castiel backed up around the corner and started running toward the car, Piper clinging to his chest. Even so, he wasn't far enough to block the sound of the aunt's body falling to the floor like a piece of meat when the demon finally fled to hell where it belonged.

* * *

AN: And yet another chapter arrives! I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter. Please leave a review. What to you guys think of little Piper?


	7. Find A Way

7\. Find A Way

Piper was asleep in the backseat. Her red hair splayed out over Castiel's lap and her hands clutched the bottom of his shirt.

What were they going to do with her?

Dean glanced away from his friend and forcibly loosened his grip on the steering wheel as he drove. They were somewhere in the middle of nowhere, almost to Bobby's, and Dean was not looking forward to explaining why they were bringing home a little kid.

What else were they supposed to do, though? It was the middle of the night, and Castiel looked like he'd cut anyone who woke the kid up.

They'd drop her off at social services, of course. But not now. In the morning, probably.

Right now, Dean had other things to worry about.

Like the demon.

He shivered involuntarily.

Dean knew what demons truly looked like. He'd seen them before when he was dragged into Hell, and then again when he had his little vacation stint inside. They were jagged, bloody, grinning things with smiles stitched to their faces. Literally. Their form shifted constantly from one atrocious visage to another. Melting and reforming and stinking like rotten meat.

He smelled the demon ages before he saw her.

Which was how he knew exactly where she was even before he looked her in the face.

He exhaled shakily and composed himself when Sam gave him a questioning glance. His brother was dying to know the truth, and Dean would rather run himself through with a spear before telling him. _Yeah, Sam, I knew it was a demon because a freaking_ smelled _it from across the carnival. Weird, huh?_

Nope. He was _not_ having that conversation.

Because Dean had no idea how he'd just done that. Why was he seeing the demon's face?

Was something wrong? Was he going to be dragged back to Hell? Was he dying? What was going on? He'd felt so weird ever since he woke up and this just made it obvious. Something was wrong with him. He'd been cursed. He'd been… Dean didn't know, but he'd figure it out, and he sure wasn't going to worry Sam or Cass about it. They already had to worry about the apocalypse. Let him repeat that: the _apocalypse._ And Cass… Cass was coping with suddenly becoming a seriously diminished species.

Dean pulled into a parking lot of an off-brand, Walmart-like store. The neon lights shone across the lot and reflected over their car's dark hood. He parked and cleared his throat slightly. "Cass needs clothes."

"Right now?" Sam shifted in his seat. It was really late. Dean didn't even know why this store was open. But he'd take it.

He needed a moment alone anyway.

Sam cocked his head, apparently trying to read Dean. Dean didn't look at him. "The girl is asleep."

"I'll watch her. Okay, Cass?" He twisted to look at him. Castiel considered this before nodding. Carefully, he eased his leg out from under her and replaced it with a jacket of Dean's which had been laying around the backseat. He opened the door, and Sam did as well. They were moving with agonizing slowness in order to keep the kid asleep. It was kind of sweet, actually.

Outside, Sam nudged Cass, who just shuffled tiredly. They started for the store.

And Dean watched. He peeled his hands off the wheel. Inhale. Exhale.

It was fine. He was fine. He'd fix this, whatever it was, like he did everything else. Dean didn't realize he was trembling until he glanced down at his hands. He clenched his fists and unclenched them. That creature's face brought back memories… memories he tried to never think about. Ever.

The little girl shuffled in Dean's jacket behind him. He glanced back to see her sit up sleepily. She blinked owlish, slate-colored eyes and cocked her head at him in a way that was distinctly reminiscent of Castiel. It brought a little smile to his face.

"You are very pretty," she said softly.

Dean chuckled. "Why, thank you. You're not so bad looking yourself."

She squinted. "Bright."

"What?"

"You're too… bright."

That didn't make any sense. She was probably still mostly asleep. "What's your name?" he asked her.

"Piper May Blair."

"Piper. Cool name. I'm Dean." He stuck out his hand and Piper shook it very seriously, but then she smiled.

The little girl yawned and looked out the window toward the store. There was a solemnity to her which was a bit unnatural for a girl her age. Then again, with what she'd seen tonight, she'd be lucky to not be traumatized for the rest of her life. A bit of seriousness was not too unusual. Through the store windows, he could see Sam and Cass looking through a rack of jeans. The girl pointed. "Is that..." She trailed off, apparently not knowing her savior's name.

"Castiel? Yeah. He really needs clothes. So we're getting him some. He'll be back in a minute."

Piper nodded, satisfied. She slouched down in the backseat, dwarfed by Dean's worn leather jacket.

Dean cleared his throat. "You should go back to sleep, kid. Sam and Cass will be pissed if they come back and see we woke you up."

Silence.

"Piper?"

"Don't like sleep." She bit her lip, and her hands wrapped around themselves. "Sleep is scary."

Dean considered this. He understood. He understood completely. In response, he gave her half of a smile. "Nothing can hurt you in here, did you know that? There's all sorts of magic around this car. We've got protections worked up for years. Nothing is coming through these doors that we don't invite in."

The girl clutched the jacket closer to her. "Even demons?"

"Especially demons."

Piper thought about this. She gave a quiet sigh. "I still don't like sleep."

"Yeah. I know. I don't like it either."

* * *

"Do you think something's wrong with Dean?" Sam leaned on a rack of t-shirts as Cass considered the clothing with a distinctly bewildered air. He had no idea what he liked to wear or what each part was used for what or what was appropriate. Sam was helpful, however. Cass was grateful.

He looked up at the younger Winchester and shrugged. He pursed his lips and considered. "He has been acting strange."

"Ever since he woke up, right?"

Cass nodded. This was true. He couldn't exactly pin down what it was, but there was something different about Dean. The way he carried himself. With a quiet gravity that was not there before.

Sam ran a worried hand through his hair. "I mean, we're all just sort of ignoring it, but how the heck did he survive your blast anyway?"

"I do not know, Sam." He put a green shirt in the cart along with several pairs of jeans, underclothes, a few dark colored hoodies and jackets, and some shoes Sam insisted had 'good grip'. Whatever that meant.

Sam chewed his lip, and Cass waited for him to continue. Eventually, he did. "I… I didn't say it before but, I saw something weird when I ran to see if he was alive."

"What?"

"Is it possible your Grace could have… gotten in him somehow?"

Castiel considered this before shaking his head. "I do not think so. Anyhow, all my Grace was destroyed, Sam. I would know if it was inside him."

"His eyes were glowing. Like yours do. Did." Sam winced. "Sorry."

Cass waved the apology away and frowned. That was unusual. Maybe it was a reaction to standing in front of the Grace? He said as much, not really knowing the answer. "He is not the sort of person who can see or hear angels without dying. We know this already."

Sam sighed. "I'll do some research. See if there are any instances of normal people surviving seeing an angel's true form."

Castiel hummed in agreement, and they proceeded to checkout.

When they got back to the Impala, Piper was asleep in the front seat on Dean's lap. He glanced up with wide, slightly panicking eyes. This apparently was not planned. Cass smiled. "Can I...?"

"I'll take the back seat," Sam interrupted, apparently reading the situation. He folded into the back, and Cass took shotgun.

As Dean started the car and she hummed pleasantly, Piper blinked open her eyes and gifted him with a smile. "Castle!"

Castle. That was not his name.

"Call him Cass, Piper," Dean murmured with a tinge of amusement. "We all do."

"Castle." Piper settled into Cass's side when he shut the door, and he wondered at how quickly the girl seemed to trust them. This wasn't the first time she'd been ripped from her life, was it? Her parents had died. She'd been living with an insane woman. They had to seem downright normal to her.

"Dean is pretty," she murmured into Castiel's shirt. "Bright. Warm."

Cass cocked his head, not sure how to respond. In the end, he didn't have too. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Piper was already asleep.

What were they going to do with her?

* * *

Bobby's eyebrows rose and rose and kept on rising as the boys climbed out of the car. He was still a bit foggy headed. He'd been asleep at his desk, but the shock of this sight woke him up tidy like. It was at least three in the morning, and they all looked exhausted. Well, Sam and Cass did. Dean laughed as he got out of the car. Probably fresh off an energy drink, Bobby reasoned.

But what shocked him the most was the little bundle in Castiel's arms.

The auburn-haired girl wrapped her arms around the former angel's neck and buried her head into his chest.

Where the heck did they pick up a kiddie? How old was she, six?

Bobby opened the screen door and was about to shout out something when all three men hushed him. They stepped onto the porch and gave him varying degrees of rueful smiles.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said with a grin, still quiet lest he wake up the kid. He slapped Bobby on the shoulder. "Good thing you're awake."

Bobby just grunted. "You makin' bringing home strays a habit?" He nodded to the girl and Castiel, who looked distinctly offended at the insinuation until Bobby chuckled and waved them inside.

"Where'd ya get the girl?"

Castiel shuffled past the group and laid the little girl on the couch in the living room. He glanced around and found a blanket to drape over her. Quietly, he tucked it around her, a brushed the hair out of her eyes. Pretty girl. A weight on his shoulders seemed to lighten. It was funny how kids could do that to a man, Bobby thought. He remembered being a very weighed down old man himself before two little boys were dropped off at his house on a night much like this a long, long time ago.

The three men watched this little thing. Dean smirked as Cass walked in. "Cass's got a thing for her."

"Whatever, Dean," Cas replied, deadpan, but he seemed to register the sarcasm for once. He eased the door shut behind him and shifted his weight tiredly under the kitchen light. Bobby waited for an explanation, arms crossed.

"Well?"

"She is an orphan who was living with her aunt. No other family," Sam spoke. "Her sister was killed by the demon and then the demon possessed the aunt when we confronted it. Piper was with us when we found it, and the demon killed its host before we sent it to Hell. We didn't really know what to do with the girl."

Bobby processed this. It made sense that they'd brought the kid back. It was the middle of the night, and she had nowhere to go. "Whatcha gonna do with her now?"

Dean, Cas, and Sam exchanged glances. Dean spoke first. He cleared his throat. "We'll take her to social services in the morning. They can figure that out."

Castiel frowned. "You keep talking about this 'social services'. What is it?"

Sam answered this time. "It's a government thing that takes care of kids without homes. She'll get put into various foster homes unless she's adopted."

Castiel's eyes widened, surprised. "You mean, people don't just take in children when they are alone? They let the _government_ take them?"

When you put it that way…

Dean grunted and moved pass to grab a beer from the fridge. "It's not out of malice, Cass. Sometimes kids just don't have anyone. And not everyone is... fit to take care of a kid. It's an attempt at kindness. They're trying to protect kids. A lot of them." He sat down a bit heavily in a kitchen chair and looked lazily over at the door into the living room. He finally noticed the stricken look Castiel was throwing his way and rolled his eyes. "What?"

"And we're going to just _give_ Piper to these officials. To do whatever they like with her."

Dean glared at his friend and opened his hands in a 'what do you want me to do' sort of gesture. "Dude. She's, like, six. We're hunters. You can't keep her. Kids aren't pets."

Castiel frowned, irritated, it seemed, that Dean assumed he did not already know this. "We killed her aunt, Dean."

"And that's exactly why she's leaving as soon as possible."

Bobby grunted. "The _demon_ killer her aunt, Feathers. Yeh don't own nothing to the kid. You three saved her life."

Castiel still looked uncomfortable. However, finally, he nodded reluctantly. "I do not like this," he added. Dean leaned sideways and tossed him a beer from the fridge, followed by another for Sam and Bobby.

"No one does. But that's how it's got to be."

* * *

AN: I don't really know where Piper came from. She wasn't part of the plan but now she is. Anyway, I did some searching for our little girl and I think I found her an adorable face. If any of you want to see what she looks like, copy/paste this next part into your search bar, click on frosted productions blog and scroll down a bit until you see a pretty red haired Piper-y girl.

 **Copy/paste this:** (Fashion Photographer _children commercial photography_ A photo shoot for Persnickety Clothing Company, absolutely love these two gorgeous models. These were some shots we needed to get last minute, I think I found out about it the night before maybe day of… that's how things go sometimes in this industry, things are always last minute and crazy. )

On another note, please REVIEW. You guys were great last chapter, and I loved hearing from you all!


	8. In the Name of Love

8\. In the Name of Love

Sam was not looking forward to this.

Since Dean was nowhere to be found the next morning, (according to Piper, he was 'pobably going to fly like a birdy,' whatever that meant) it had fallen on Sam to drive their spontaneous addition into town.

Castiel refused to be left behind.

Piper sat in the front seat, in between Castiel and Sam. In the daylight, her features were easier to see. She was a petite thing with large, strangely colored eyes (they were a very light blue that was almost gray) and a bright smile. Sam guessed her age made it easier for her to continue smiling. She just wasn't old enough to understand what had happened. She was wearing the same clothes from the night before, overalls with a warm yellow t-shirt. Piper liked yellow and said as much. She had spent the morning, after Castiel showed up and reassured her that she was not alone in an unfamiliar house, gathering any yellow trinket she could find around Bobby's living room and piling it in the center of the worn red rug. They'd stopped her when she reached for a golden-bound book of nasty spells.

Now, she was content peering out at the road, excited to be in the front seat. "Where's Dean, Castle?" she asked for what had to be the billionth time.

Castiel apparently had more patience than Sam. He answered her question with the same sincerity each time. "Dean is busy, Piper. He couldn't help us take you to your new home."

Piper didn't seem to thrilled with the 'new home' idea but hadn't really put up a fuss yet. She focused on Dean instead and sighed disappointedly. "He can catch up?"

Castiel frowned. "Catch up to us? No, I don't think so. We have his car."

Which was a good point, actually. When Sam had got a hold of him on the phone, Dean told him he was fine, piss off, so Sam wasn't exactly worried, just curious where his brother could have gone without the car.

Piper rolled her eyes, a funny move on a six-year-old. "Doesn't need a _car,_ silly."

Sam glanced at her and cocked his head. "What do you mean, Piper?"

But Piper only gave him a look. A look like she wasn't sure if he was joking with her or not. Finally, she turned away and pointed out the window at something that caught her eye. She laughed and made Castiel look at it too.

Sam suppressed a smile at Castiel's funny way of handling her. She wanted to crawl all over him, but Castiel somehow got her to sit still with a pat on the head or something of the like. It wouldn't have worked on any other child, but Piper listened and sat. It seemed to surprise Castiel most of all. Piper was unique. Sam wondered how much time Castiel had spent with human children. Not much.

Then again, neither had Sam or Dean. Or, well, Dean took care of Sam when he was a kid, but that was different. They were brothers.

They pulled into a parking lot across the street from "Center for Human Services" and Sam's dread increased. A man bicycled past, and, to Sam's slight amusement, flipped the place off as he curved around a corner. These places were bundles of hurt and sadness and broken, jagged pieces. He didn't blame the cyclist. Sam hated it. It wasn't anything they'd done, really, but there was always the threat hanging over his head when he was a kid; the threat that someone would realize their Dad was gone for weeks and weeks and they had to steal food when they ran out and that sometimes they wondered if someday he wouldn't come back. If someone found out, they'd have had a one-way ticket into one of these places, both Sam and Dean were very aware. Even if Dean would have denied it until his skin turned blue. John Winchester loved his kids. He just needed revenge more. Sam knew he was separated enough emotionally to recognize this and Dean was not and that was just how things were.

Sam guessed the fear must have traveled into adulthood without him noticing and now it was coming around to bite him in the arse.

He exhaled and shook away the threads of illogical anxiety. "What now?" he asked Castiel

Castiel was very still. "They can't connect us to the murder of-"

"Yes," Sam interrupted. He looked down pointedly at Piper, who stared at them innocently. Maybe it was _not_ a good idea to talk about-

"It's okay," Piper said. "I know you got the demon that looked like Auntie. That's your job."

Sam blinked in surprise. Apparently, the kid was more observant than he thought. "That's right. It's our job. That's why we can't let anyone see us with you. Because, they don't know it was a demon."

Piper thought about this. Suddenly, her face crumbled. "I want to stay with Castle."

A ghost of a smile lifted Cass's lips. He patted her on the head again. "You can't stay with us, Piper. We do dangerous things. You could get hurt."

"I stay inside car," Piper replied. "Dean says it's safe in the car."

Castiel shook his head. "Not safe enough, Piper."

The little girl's eyes continued to plead, but she did not cry. Not yet, anyway. Piper looked toward the stone building with an air of resignation, and Castiel opened the side door. He got out, and Piper scooted after him. Quickly, she held up her hand. Castiel took it. They walked side by side across the road, their height differences almost comical, and stopped by a little planter near the building but out of sight of any cameras. How innocent they looked from a distance. No one would ever know just by looking that they were a little girl orphaned by demons and a former angel. Castiel crouched down to look her in the eye. It was too far away for Sam to see their faces, but it was obvious this was goodbye.

Sam sighed and drummed his thumbs on the top of the steering wheel. He just wanted to go home.

Dean was always the one who was 'bad with emotions', but to be honest, Sam didn't think he was very good at this stuff either.

Castiel smiled at the little girl even though it hurt. A lot. He wondered why he'd gotten attached to her so quickly. And he _was_ attached. If he wasn't, it wouldn't be this hard. Then again, Castiel thought he knew why. She so tiny and helpless and pure and trusting and he'd saved her when she needed to be saved. This was a little victory. One little sign. He'd saved Piper without a gun or a sword or his Grace. Just Castiel.

Just Cass.

And weren't those trusting eyes, staring up at him with more adoration than he ever deserved the most beautiful things he'd ever seen?

Castiel crouched so he could look her in the eye. "You have to go in by yourself now, Piper. Can you do that? Just go up to the nice people and tell them you're… alone. Tell them you need help. They will help you." A thought crossed his mind, and he dug in his pocket. "Here. This will keep you safe from any more demons." He handed Piper a small, anti-possession charm on a necklace. "Wear this all the time, but try to not let anyone see it." Piper took it and placed it around her neck. Castiel tucked it under her shirt and nodded approvingly. "There. All safe."

Piper frowned and crossed her little arms. " _You_ help me."

Castiel suppressed a sigh. "Yes, but we're…" He thought about what Dean said the night previous. "We're not fit to take care of you. You have to be very brave. And I know you are very brave because you were last night, weren't you?"

Piper thought about this. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes and a shot of panic had Castiel take her by the shoulders gently. He had no idea what he would do if she started to cry. Piper sniffed. She wiped her nose and suddenly hugged Castiel tighter than he thought possible for such a small being. She wiped her eyes on his shoulder and sniffed again into his clothes. "Can you a'least visit?"  
Castiel smiled at this. He didn't know how children were supposed to act at this age, but if he could have guessed, Piper was a very clever, observant child. "I will try to visit you, but it will be our secret. Alright, Piper?"

Piper pulled back and nodded. "Pinky promise?"

"What?"

She held up her pinky and giggled, probably at his expression. She lifted up his hand and linked his pinky with her own. Castiel cocked his head. A… strange human custom. "Pinky promise you'll visit?"

Castiel had no idea why linking the smallest appendage widst promising made anything more substantial, but it seemed to hold weight for the child. He nodded gravely. "Pinky, um, pinky promise."

With that, Piper hugged him one last time, Castiel stood, and she skipped down the sidewalk and through the glass door. She cast him one last look, a smile, and then the door shut behind her.

There. It was done.

Castiel's shoulders slumped.

He shouldn't feel this… damaged. He hardly knew the child. She would go off to have a good life, probably. It was one night.

One night of taking care of the child he saved.

This was beyond illogical.

He forced himself to walk back to the Impala.

Sam was inside with a vice-like grip on the wheel. He hardly even moved when Castiel got in and shut the door.

Finally, Castiel let himself exhale. If being human had taught himself anything thus far, it was that loving hurt. It hurt a lot.

Was it worth it?

* * *

AN: ANGST FOR DAAAYYS PEOPLE I AM NOT EVEN SORRY. Poor Piper :'(. Please leave a review for our little angels.


	9. What Do You Mean?

9\. What Do You Mean?

In the weeks following, Dean found himself wandering off more and more.

In the moments between the action. In the stillness of the morning and the late night. In the space between breaths and the moment while the sun hesitated to rise and the moon refused to budge just yet. He'd start walking. Around and around the scrap yard, around the motel block, around the city. They left Bobby's soon after leaving Piper, and Castiel had seemed at least moderately content to travel with them. He wanted to go, Dean thought, it just took convincing him that they wanted him as well.

Either way, off they went.

Castiel fit into their lives almost seamlessly. They'd both made him spend several hours shooting at cans. He was a good shot, they discovered, and could fight hand-to-hand just as well as Sam or Dean. They forgot sometimes, Castiel had been a warrior for a very long time. Any inconsistency in his fighting style because of his lack of Grace, he quickly tied up with some help from Dean. His wounds healed, and the burns around his neck and wrists were nothing but thin white lines.

He smiled a bit more now and didn't crawl up inside himself as much. There were good and bad days, but Dean was glad at least something seemed to be going mostly alright. The gig with the kid seemed to have done him good. As far as they could tell, the apocalypse was still looming, looking for right moment.

Until then, they'd just keep on doing what they did best. Hunting.

The thing was...

Dean couldn't sleep.

And it was not like he didn't want to. He hadn't slept since he woke up that first time.

And he tried. He really tried.

But he just wasn't tired. On the contrary, he felt like something was crawling under his skin. Too much energy. Dean didn't know what to do with it. It kept him on edge and jittery. He felt like there was something he ought to be doing, but he didn't know what.

So when it was late and Cass and Sam were both asleep, Dean would sit up in the couch in their motel room and listen for any disturbance. If there was none, he'd stand, lace up his shoes, and ease out the door.

The night was good. The air was never the same. He'd walked on wet nights, crisp nights, warm nights, snowy nights.

He thought he liked wet nights the best.

If they were in a city, he'd find a dark corner and watch the lights sparkle and splash off of the puddles. The city bled energy and light, and he enjoyed this. It felt familiar. The cities refused to rest as well.

If Sam or Cass noticed his nighttime wandering, they didn't say anything. Although, Sam was sometimes astonished by all of the stuff he managed to get done. He once did an entire salt and burn in one night. His companions never even had a chance to discover the problem, much less fix it.

Who knew how much time was wasted in those six to eight hours used to sleep?

Dean had no idea why he wasn't tired, but he did not want to think about it. It was easier to put in the same category as his lack of hunger and as his ability to see... things.

He'd rather ignore that. It terrified him. Wandering was simpler.

If he ever got tired, he would sleep, Dean told himself. Until then he would keep up his night time patrol.

* * *

Castiel knew something was different about Dean. Some differences were obvious, and other times there were only very slight deviations he only noticed because he was looking for them.

Cass dialed Sam's number and chewed his lip irritably. He was getting the hang of the computer and had recently been allowed to use it without Sam watching over his shoulder nervously.

Across the motel room, Dean lay on his stomach on the bed, picking at the fibers of a sickly yellow, fraying blanket. He sighed loudly. "Is he picking up?"

"No," Cass grunted. The phone continued to ring until Cass finally hung up and set down the cell.

He glanced over at Dean. "He ought to know the creature is not, in fact, a-"

Cass could feel Dean rolling his eyes even though his head was turned away. "Dude, he's been doing this for ages. He's fine. It's just a beer run. Right now he's parking outside and his phone is dead."

His logic was sound but more confident than Cass would have guessed. "You cannot possibly know that."

"Whatever." Dean shifted and sat up.

He winced and then glared at Cass's slightly concerned expression. "I'm fine, Cass. Just a headache."

He was getting a lot of those lately.

Cass considered his friend carefully. "Dean-"

"Don't," Dean interrupted. He shut his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. "I probably need sleep."

"We woke up a few hours ago."

This only got a sad, tired sort of look before he shut his eyes again.

Before Cass could ask another question, the door jingled, and Sam entered with a box of beers, some junk food, and, strangely enough, a bottle of aspirin.

"Good. You're back."

Sam tossed the aspirin idly in Dean's direction, and Dean caught it without opening his eyes. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"The aspirin?"

Sam blinked. He looked at the aspirin bottle in Dean's hand. "Did… did you tell me to get those?"

Dean shrugged and popped some of the pills into his mouth. "Probably. I was hoping you would."

Sam nodded slowly but dropped the issue. Turning a questioning eye on Castiel, Sam sat down in the desk chair and the day continued on as normal.

But Cass was relatively sure Dean never asked Sam for that aspirin.

And sometimes… sometimes Dean just _knew_ things. Things he shouldn't. Things he couldn't possibly.

Another time something strange happened, Castiel couldn't exactly confirm it because he was slightly intoxicated.

"Naw, honey, I'm good." Dean smiled stiffly at the scantily clad young woman who'd come up to their booth. Sam was buried in two stacks of research and was oblivious, and Castiel had a strange buzzing in the back of his mind he had never experienced before. Dean seemed to have made it his mission to get the former angel drunk. He'd stuck him on the inside of the booth so that he couldn't escape and kept smirking at him. Apparently, he found this humorous. The woman shrugged and left.

Castiel flicked up his gaze at the woman _and she was pretty he noted,_ and then glanced at Dean in surprise. He cocked his head. Words were… difficult right now. He didn't think he handled alcohol very well.

"Why aren't you…" He gestured vaguely in the direction the girl was walking away in, her hips swaying back and forth with each step.

Dean snickered and relaxed into the back of his seat. "She's one of those screw-you-broke kids."

Castiel blinked uncomprehendingly.

"She was gonna steal my wallet. Totally messed up moral compass. Couldn't you tell?"

Was he missing something in this conversation? All Castiel could see from her right now were her…

Well.

Anyway.

Castiel never did figure out if that conversation actually happened that night.

But that was just a little thing.

More often than not, it was Dean that spotted the monsters now.

They weren't even on a case once. Sam was bickering with Dean at the breakfast table of some tiny diner in the middle of some high altitude forest town. "This is stupid, Dean. You didn't eat-"

"Blah, blah, blah." Dean rolled his eyes. He flicked some egg off of his fork and onto Sam's shirt. They did childish things like this because otherwise, they'd be actually shouting at each other.

Sam very slowly wiped the egg off. He glared, but when Dean didn't yield, he muttered under his breath and forcefully set about eating his own food.

Castiel watched this confrontation quietly over his own breakfast (he liked breakfast by the way. Food ought to always be sweet). These sorts of arguments were more common than they used to be. Castiel didn't mention the fact that he knew for certain Dean hadn't eaten in much longer than a missed meal here and there. He _did_ eat, just not without any particular gusto. Ever. Castiel hadn't understood that this was a problem until Sam exasperatedly explained to him one night that Dean _ought_ to be hungry. He was always hungry.

As they sat in the diner, Castiel's gaze wandered to a table across the room. A young girl in yellow tights giggled as she ate a pancake.

The sight made that stone in Castiel's chest return and it took him a few seconds to categorize it. Sadness? Why?

Yellow. Right.

"How do you think Piper is doing?" he asked suddenly, eyes still on the little girl.

Both brothers paused in their bickering, a bit surprised. "Um," Sam started, "I'm sure she's fine. I mean, that was weeks ago, Cass."

He was right of course. It had been weeks.

It was stupid of him to keep thinking about her.

Suddenly, Dean stiffened. He grabbed Sam's arm and gestured with his eyes toward the entrance. "Not even three seconds of quiet," he muttered.

Before either Case or Sam could stop him, Dean stood up and followed a dark-haired man out. By the time they caught up to him, Dean had already pocketed four hex bags from the astonished witch. "Save your dignity and don't try to convince me you were _not_ going to use these to make someone itch themselves to death. I mean, props for creativity but…" The witch's shock only lasted a second, and then the man attacked.

It was three there to one, the creep didn't stand a chance. As it turned out, that guy had been slowly killing his roommates for years.

Dean refused to say how he knew the man was a witch.

An inkling of an explanation was forming in Castiel's mind, but he did not dare speak it. After all, it was ridiculous.

But if it wasn't that, what could it be?

Eventually, Sam and Dean's near constant bickering came to a head. They were in Alabama chasing a possible haunting, and Sam found Dean wandering alone outside while they were asleep.

Cass woke up to the sounds of their steadily rising voices. Was something wrong?

"You're not my friggin' _nannie_ , Sam!"

"How long have you been gone?"

What time was it? Past two in the morning at least, Cass thought. Castiel yawned and forced away his exhaustion. He sat up in the bed and ran a hand across his face. He had the bed this time because it was his turn. Dean almost always took the couch in the motels with only two twin beds. Something about "Go to sleep, Cass, you look like crap. Don't argue with me."

It was an unusual display of kindness on the hunter's part.

Castiel walked to the window and pushed down the blinds. Sam and Dean were just outside, carved out of the night by the orange light of a streetlamp. Sam towered over Dean, who glared at him defiantly. After a few seconds, Dean threw his hands in the air. "You're one to talk!" he spat. "You spent ages sneaking off getting fat on friggin' _demon blood_ from your black eyed girlfriend! At least, I'm doing something useful!" Castiel winced. It was only when he was _really_ mad that he brought that up.

Sam was frozen in shock. He suddenly didn't seem so tall. "I-I know, Dean. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Dean snorted. "Don't lie to me. It won't work." With a final curse, Dean swung around and started toward the Impala.

Sam chased after him. "Dean, please!"

In angry dismissal, Dean swatted behind him. He threw open the car door and was about to get in when Sam said something in a much softer voice. How Sam was not a storm of fury was beyond Cass. It spoke bounds about how concerned for his brother he was. For one, if Dean was okay, he would _never_ have thrown that into Sam's face.

He was seriously messed up and neither of them really knew why.

Carefully, Cass eased open the motel door. He felt like he ought to let them argue in privacy, but on the other hand, he really did want to know what was going on with Dean.

Dean's words filtered through the night damp, quiet and weary but growing in earnest intensity with each word. "You don't know what it's like, Sammy. It's, it's so…" He struggled for a description. " _Loud_. In my head. All the time. I can't sleep. I can hardly think. I ain't doing nothing useful laying there all night!"

Sam took a small step back. The anger in the air was gone but the tension remained. "Dean, when is the last time you slept?"

"I don't know." Dean's eyes flicked to meet Castiel's. The simple motion was enough to encourage Cass out from the doorway. He walked slowly.

Sam waited.

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's been a while."

 _How long,_ would have been the next question, but Dean ducked into the car. He slammed the door shut, and at the same time, the street lamp above them exploded. Both Sam and Castiel flinched in surprise. Before they could stop him, Dean drove into the night, leaving them in the dust.

Neither of them said anything for a long time. The darkness was a heavy, wet thing.

"Maybe he _did_ die," Sam said tentatively after a long moment of complete silence. "When he was in front of your Grace. Maybe he died and-and went somewhere horrible. Maybe that's what's wrong with him."

Castiel didn't know, but he thought that if they were going to find out, they would find out soon. Dean couldn't hide this forever.

They did not sleep any more that night.

* * *

AN: *drags this out like a mile-long red carpet* hi, so we are getting close to a peak here, don't worry. Also, those of you worried about Piper _fear not_ she shall return. Later. Quite a bit later, but it will happen. Please leave me a _**review** _ and tell me what you think of this!


	10. Immortals

10\. Immortals

"You take the back door, Cass. Sam is the side, and I'm the front. Remember-"

"Decapitation or deadman's blood," Castiel interrupted with an eye roll. "I know."

Dean smirked, slapped him on the back and nodded at Sam. Sam returned the look steadily. The brothers had been icy toward each other since their midnight fight a few days ago. Dean was pretending it never happened, and Sam seemed to give up trying to make Dean talk.

Quietly, the trio separated, each to their respective targets. They were around the corner from a large, Victorian style house that had long been empty and misused. The pink paint was peeled more often than not, and the entire house seemed to tilt to the left. The whole thing was uncanny, and this attribute was only exemplified by the overcast, sickly green sky.

Castiel jogged around the house, skirting over a puddle, and came to a stop at the back door.

He eased it open, machete in hand. The edges of several syringes full of dead man's blood bit into his thigh where he had them stashed. It was dark inside and smelled of an unpleasant mixture of cigarette smoke and marijuana with undercurrents of sweat and blood. The doorway yawned like the mouth of a sleeping beast. Carefully, Castiel stepped between its teeth. The floor creaked under his foot, and he froze.

Dean said to wait for the signal. Should he keep waiting? Unfortunately, Dean hadn't specified what the signal would be. Which was unfortunately very typical of him.

Something shifted in the shadows, and Castiel squinted at it. A guard? Probably a guard.

Suddenly, glass shattered on the other side of the house, and light streamed in knife-like beams through the room, illuminating the creature and his bloodshot eyes. The large, muscled man hissed and shot Castiel a lazy grin at the same time.

This was probably the only signal he'd get.

Castiel launched himself at the vampire.

It did not take much to lose himself in a fight. All other thoughts and worries and fears fell to the wayside in the presence of this greater danger. This dance of death and adrenaline. He did not enjoy it. But in a way, he did. He liked the release from the weight on his shoulders; from the eternal silence in his mind where his siblings once resided. There was a constant pressure pulling him closer and closer to the ground.

The only solutions thus far were fighting and Dean Winchester.

Cass decapitated the vampire and ducked out of the way so that its oozing body did not fall on top of him.

Several more vampires came around corners and gave him leering, frighteningly emotionless looks. He sliced and cut his way through the creatures. Several minutes in, he kicked back one of the females, and she slammed into a wooden stair railing. It broke with a loud crack, and she hit the ground hard enough that a mortal would have been knocked unconscious. As she was, she screamed in anger and launched herself at his face. She swiped a hand with sharpened, blood red nails, at his face and Castiel jerked back as pain suddenly blossomed across his cheek and nose. He decapitated her quickly and ran up the stairs. A hand raised to his cheek revealed crimson. Wonderful. He'd just draw all the vampires to him now.

Quickly, Castiel stole down the long hallway. Behind him, thumps and growls and yelps announced that Sam and Dean were fighting their own battles. At least one of them had made it upstairs now. Probably Dean. Sam's job was to take care of stragglers.

Soon, vampires came crawling out of the woodwork, lustful and violent as was their default; drawn in by the scent of fresh blood. Castiel's arms ached, and he was covered in little scratches and bumps that would later bruise. There were perhaps more of these monsters than he could handle alone, he thought belatedly.

Just as three of the vampires had him in a corner, all three heads wobbled and slid off to reveal a sweaty Sam Winchester. Oh, thank God. He gave Castiel a hand and pulled him up. "Come on."

Thirty minutes later, they had massacred the entire house. Perhaps thirty vampires in total. The entire place looked like the set for one of those horror movies that sometimes popped up on TV when Castiel couldn't sleep at night. The walls were slick with blood, and the floors were covered in a variety of headless bodies and the occasional head. It was disgusting.

Wiping a bloody hand across his sweating brow, Castiel followed Sam down the stairs.

They were at ease, confident they had gotten them all. Which was the mistake, of course. And so, when Dean popped around the corner with a slightly manic grin, they did not think to look in the room behind him. Both Sam and Castiel were too far away from Dean to help when a seven-foot vampire stepped up behind Dean with a wicked gleam.

Dean saw the look on their faces, and he started to turn, eyes hard, but was not quick enough. The vampire leaped forward with inhuman quickness and thrust a wooden stick (from the railing the female broke earlier) into Dean's lower back. Dean slammed his elbow back into the guy's face and stumbled a few steps away from him. His face went very white and his eyes glazed.

Dread and terror like a mix of cement and lightning shot through Castiel. He practically flew the last few steps. He grabbed Dean by both shoulders as he swayed on his feet. Dean's back was wet with a growing crimson stain. Before either of them had a chance to move, Sam rushed past and decapitated the vampire that dared hurt Dean. The head slid and hit the floor with a _slurp_ and a _thunk_ , and Sam kicked both the body and the head aside probably harder than was necessary.

But Castiel's attention was on Dean. Dean's eyes were still glazed, and he squinted at Castiel. "S'beautiful, Cass," he breathed. He brushed the spot just at the base of Castiel's neck with a shaking finger.

What? Cass shivered. "D-Dean? What are you talking about?" His mouth was so dry, it took a second to make the first word behave.

Dean blinked rapidly, and suddenly, Sam was at their side. He pushed Castiel out of the way with an intensity that came from fear, and Castiel let him take his place; both hands on his brother's shoulders.

"Dean?" Sam's fingers dug into Dean's shoulders. "Dean, sit down. We need to stop that from bleeding." Dean had not moved. Blood was now pooling at his feet, making the floor slick. If the light caught the drops right, Castiel could see his terrified reflection staring up at him. That was a lot of blood. More blood than a human ought to lose safely. Dean blinked rapidly. Suddenly, he let out a sick, broken laugh that made no sense to Castiel at all. What was going on? The elder Winchester swayed again, but he pushed back Sam's hands. He reached back, and without hesitation, jerked out the stick. It came into his hand with a wet squelch, and Dean dropped the bloody thing. It rolled and stopped at Castiel's feet.

What?

How on earth did he do that? Castiel exchanged an equally terrified and bewildered glance with Sam. How was Dean still standing? Why wasn't he screaming in agony? Why wasn't he doing anything at all? If anything, he ought to be making little, irritating remarks and demeaning this entire situation.

His silence was so much worse.

"Doesn't hurt," Dean said matter-of-factly. He laughed again, a bit wildly now. "Don't hurt at all."

Suddenly, thunder boomed just outside, so loud, Castiel jumped back out of reflex. The sound reverberated in his bones as rain all at once began to pound down on the roof above them. Wind picked up and clung to them as the ground shook, and a clock fell off the wall with a startling crash. The lights flickered, and the bulb just above them exploded and rained down glass. In another room, a radio turned on and began to flick at a lightning speed through several rock'n'roll stations. Sam held tighter to his brother. "What's going on!"

Castiel backed up into his hand hit a small, broken table. He knew what this sounded like. "Angels." It sounded like the entrance of an angel. And every fiber of his being was _screaming_ to get as far away as possible. Why were they here? What did they want? In this state, they could do whatever they wanted to him, and Castiel was pretty sure he'd pissed off at least three-fourths of Heaven when he decided to side with the Winchesters. They would kill him.

A flash of light lit behind his eyes. A flicker of a memory he hadn't known he'd buried. _A white room. So, so white. A woman sat at a very proper looking desk with her hair in a ponytail. Her face made Castiel shiver deep inside._

" _I heard you were a bad boy again, Castiel."_

Castiel blinked away the images and stepped toward his friends again. He wished he'd thought to bring his blade (he'd taken to using smaller weapons because a sword was awkward to carry in public) but a machete would have to do.

Where were they then? Where was the cavalry?

"Don't hurt," Dean muttered again.

Thunder cracked one last time, and at the same moment, Dean collapsed into Sam's arms. Like a marionette with cut strings.

Everything stopped.

At the same time.

It was so still, Castiel could have sworn time stopped as well. But Sam started shouting at Dean, trying to get him to respond. He slumped under the weight of his brother and eventually managed to get Dean on his stomach on the floor.

Castiel watched all this without moving. Why did no one come? Someone should have come. He looked down at Sam cursing and attempting to rip open Dean's shirt as something very scary occurred to Cass.

Maybe angels didn't _come…_ because there was already one here.

There was already an angel here.

Puzzle pieces and half confirmed hypotheses came together all at once, and a deep sadness followed by fury ground into Castiel. Dean's weird behavior, his sleepless nights, his lack of hunger, his headaches, his ability to see monsters. But… wouldn't Cass have noticed? Wouldn't he have been able to tell?

Apparently, he didn't know his friend as well as he thought.

"Help me, Cass!" Sam spat in exasperation. He couldn't seem to get Dean's jacket off.

Castiel still made no move to help. He stared down at Dean.

But that wasn't Dean. Not anymore.

Anger seized him, and Castiel spun away with an upward fling of his hands. "He _swore. He swore_ he wouldn't do this! What is the point of _any_ of it now?" For all extents and purposes, he _died_ for this man. For this suicide mission, they had on their hands! And Dean just _gave up!_

Would he do that? A second ago, Castiel would have sworn up and down Dean would never. But, what else explained…

Dean's injury would prove it. It would prove his hypothesis.

" _What_?" Sam looked up at him with bloody hands. "Castiel, what the heck is your problem? Help me get his shirt off."

"He's fine." Castiel seethed. He kicked a decapitated head heatedly and glared.

In response, Sam threw him an _are-you-freaking-kidding-me_ look. Castiel was too furious to care.

Disgusted, Sam finally took out a hunting knife and ripped open Dean's shirt, only to freeze. He opened the shirt more and wiped away the blood coated to Dean's back.

Dean's… bloody, stabbed, but somehow, _perfectly fine_ back.

There was no wound, and Castiel had expected as much. His stomach did a few flips anyway. "That's not _Dean,_ " Castiel spat. It made sense. He really didn't want it to make sense.

Sam was very still as well now. He'd apparently gone through the same thought process. He stood carefully and clenched his fists. Ran a worried hand through his hair. "Daggonit, Dean," he breathed. His eyes flicked to meet Castiel's. "You think-?"

Castiel swallowed thickly.

"I think Dean said yes."

* * *

They were driving at least fifty miles over the speed limit.

Sam had no idea what to think. Would Dean have really said yes? What were they holding over him to make him do such a thing? His brother was dead to the world in the backseat, and Castiel kept urging Sam to drive faster. They didn't have any holy oil with them (They'd run out during the whole thing with Gabriel and hadn't replaced it. Which was _so_ stupid, Sam realized now) and so it was vital that they got to Bobby's in time.

"I don't understand, Cass." The wheels screeched around a corner. "He's _Dean_. I would have known if it wasn't Dean."

Cass crossed his arms. "Michael is probably hiding. Letting Dean 'take the wheel' as it is. Perhaps he is injured? Although, I cannot see how that is possible..."

But why? Why not just run off with his brother? Sam said as much and Castiel considered this. He glanced back nervously at Dean. "I… I don't know, Sam. Maybe he is waiting for the right time? Can you think of another explanation for all of the strange things he has done lately?"

Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter. No. No, he could not. The healed wound and the insane storm they'd witnessed only sealed the deal. Dean was just a man. He shouldn't be able to see demons and witches and liars and werewolves and the like. He shouldn't be able to go days and days without food or sleep or know what people were thinking and doing from the other room.

In the back seat, Dean moaned and both Castiel and Sam cursed; Castiel in quick, terrified Enochian, and Sam in good, old fashioned four-lettered words. "Cass! Do something!"

"What do I do?" Castiel twisted around in the seat. They waited, tense. Finally, "He's… he's still unconscious."

"Oh, thank God."

Sam pressed down the gas pedal, and they wiped down to winding, country road.

Sam Winchester knew he was not exactly the luckiest person, but this was getting ridiculous. Behind them, a siren wailed, and a police car barrelled into view.

Sam slammed his hands against the wheel now. "Of _course_!" They did _not_ have time for this right now! Dean moaned again, and this time, shifted on the leather seats. Quickly, Sam calculated the probability of them being able to escape the police officer and found it depressingly low.

He slowed and finally stopped on the side of the road, boiling. Cass chewed his lip and cast anxious looked back at Dean. "Here, let's cover up the blood." Sam searched quickly for something to do so before just shrugging off his own jacket and throwing it on top of Dean. The only problem was that now _his_ vampire blood covered shirt was on display. He took back the jacket and zipped it up. Castiel was bleeding from a cut across his face. Both their hands were stained red.

They looked like they'd just come out of a blood bath.

Which they had.

Wonderful.

A moment later, a trim, well-groomed officer approached the car and knocked on the window. Sam cranked it down and gave the officer a smile. "Officer?"

"Are you aware that you were going one hundred and ten miles an hour?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't known the car even went that fast. "Um-"

The officer waved away his words. "License and register…" He squinted, apparently noticing the state of them.

Sam thought rapidly and looked down at himself ruefully. "Yeah… we were at a costume party."

The officer grunted.

Sam set about getting the license and registration when Dean groaned again. Sam's heart thumped in his throat. They could _not_ get arrested right now. Suspiciously, the officer bent and peered in through the window. "What's up with him?"

"He had a bit too much to drink at the party. We're taking him home."

"At six in the morning?"

Was that really the time? "It was a crazy party."

Castiel, meanwhile, was doing a horrible job of looking at ease. He shifted agitatedly and wouldn't look at the officer. They _really_ needed to work on his deception skills.

The officer picked up on Castiel's fear and leaned in a little closer. "How about you folks come stand outside of the car…"

If he found the arsenal in their trunk, they were done for.

However, before Sam could move, Dean sat up shakily behind them. Sam froze. He was awake. Dean, Michael, whoever they were, was awake. Castiel looked just as stiff.

"Hey buddy," Dean said to the officer with a charming smile. He wiped his brow, obviously trying to look stronger than he was. "How about you let us go, alright?"

The officer snorted. "You have got to be-"

"It's funny, you know," Dean interrupted him, "how male officers are supposed to all _masculine_. I wonder what your friends, oh, and your wife, would think if they knew you wore a pink g-string under all that." He gestured vaguely at the officer, who paled.

"A-are you threatening me?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. Are you arresting us? Because a few words here and there, and _poof_ there goes your reputation, sucker. Maybe your family too. Your wife? If she knew you just married her for her _brother_ , what do you think-?"

"Shut up," the officer practically squealed. His confusion was palpable in the air, but stronger was his fear. "Just shut up. That's not true!"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Now, we both know you're lying."

Apparently, Dean was right. Because the officer stuttered a few more sentences, but he was so terrified, there wasn't any threat from him anymore. He scurried back to his car and Sam watched him go with wide eyes. Fear tried to choke him as Sam started up the car again. Was that Dean speaking? How could he know all that about the man?

They drove quickly. "D-dean?"

No reply.

Sam glanced back.

Dean was unconscious on the seat again.

What on earth were they going to do?

* * *

AN: *evil laughter grows from the distance* So you thought they understood yeah? Well. They get it. Sort of. Ish. I love this chapter too much, lol. On a side note, I've written 170 pages of this bad boy, which, since it is only like halfway done, means this story is going to be much longer than I anticipated. Uggghh, I am too obsessed with this show. But *shrugs* personally, I like the disease. Anyway, please leave a _**review**_.


	11. Another Night On Mars

11\. Another Night On Mars

 _If you can't control yourself, Castiel, then leave._

 _You just don't understand, do you?_

 _I get it. You're pissed. So am I._

Dean cracked open his eyes.

He felt weird.

Like, not exactly in pain, but not really comfortable either. It was stickily hot and his stomach pitched from something that was rolling around in his chest. His cheek pressed against the concrete floor. Slowly, he sat up shakily and tried not to puke.

 _What if we're wrong, Cass? What if it's not Michael? Do you think he's okay? Maybe we shouldn't have put him in there… Bobby?_

 _Hate to break it to ya, Sam, but if the idjit could do what you been sayin' he can do, what else could it be?_

Dean's head jerked up at the voices. Sam? Where was he?

What was going on?

His brain finally caught up with his eyes. His eyebrows rose. So that's why it was so freaking hot. The flames flickered and cast long, sharp shadows around the room. Dean was sitting in a ring of fire. His confusion increased. In Bobby's panic room? The fan above him cut periodical slices of light that played across his lap. He was on the floor but he wasn't sore from his impromptu nap, however that had happened. He looked down at himself. His shirt had been ripped up the back (seriously? He like this shirt.) and it was covered in blood. But it must not be his blood because as far as he could tell, he was fine.

Wait.

Vampires. He'd been hunting vampires. How did he end up here?

And why the heck was he surrounded by holy fire? What kind of major miscommunicating screw up just went down and why did he not have even the slightest clue?

"SAM!" he shouted.

 _Was that Dean? I think I heard Dean_.

It was strange how voices traveled in this house. Several sets of feet came clomping very loudly down the stairs. Then the door cranked open, and Sam peeked his head in. His clothes were bloody, and he looked exhausted, but that was not what startled Dean. Where his eyes ought to have been, a blue glow shined through.

Dean scrambled to his feet and tried to step backward, but the fire was _way_ too hot. He stayed in the circle.

Sam (or whatever that thing was) entered the room and was followed quietly by both Cass and Bobby.

All of their eyes were glowing that same blue-white glow.

Well, it wasn't exactly the same, although he could not have pinned in words just what was different. And now that he looked at them, it wasn't just their eyes that glowed. In the center of their chests, just on the collar bone, the light pulsed and beat just like a heartbeat. The entire room lit up with the brilliance. He blinked and shook his head, but the lights wouldn't go away.

"What the heck is going on?!" He tried to step back again, but that _stupid_ ring stopped him again.

Sam watched him and there was something very sad and a bit suspicious and also afraid swirling in those glowing lights.

Dean shut his eyes and when he opened them again, the lights were gone. All at once. The room was very dark in comparison.

Sam and Cass and Bobby were trading nervous looks. They were afraid. Why were they afraid?

"Sammy," Dean snapped. "Please."

That got him. Sam cleared his throat and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"I'm guessing we're talking to Dean, then."

Dean frowned, taken back. " _What_? What is that supposed to mean?"

At Sam's side, Castiel, who Dean now realized was a simmering pot of fury and loneliness and betrayal (yeah, he could tell), snorted. Sheesh, what crawled up his butt and died? Dean cocked his head at his friend. "Cass? Guys, come on, what is this?"

"Drop the act, Dean. We figured it out. We know you said yes."

Dean did a double take. He moved to the center of the circle, where the fire was the least hot. "To who? _Michael_?" He sneered. The fire was making sense now. But seriously? They thought he'd actually given up? Why? After all the crap they'd gone through? After all of the fight they'd put into this? He couldn't deny that he _had_ thought about it. He'd considered giving in, but he wouldn't have done it. Dean didn't think he ever would have.

He stared at them in shock. "You- you think I…?" Dean shook his head, disbelieving and disgusted. "I would _never_. Why would you even say that?"

Again, they exchanged glances. A bit more confused now. That weird glow inside of them flickered again, and Dean turned away suddenly, startled. He didn't want to see it.

"Dean? Dean, what's wrong?"

That was Sam's voice. It edged on concern.

Dean suddenly realized he was clutching his head. He forced himself to straighten even as another bout of nausea rushed through him. The heat in his chest was so intense, it was almost as painful as the fire.

He forced himself to breathe. The heat settled.

With extreme care, Dean made sure he met each of their gazes in turn. The glow flickered in their pupils but did not overwhelm the entire eye. Okay, he could deal with that. Whatever it was. "I didn't say yes to Michael. There ain't nobody in this head but me."

Sammy chewed his lip uneasily, and Dean cast him a pleading look. Sam trusted him. He knew he did. He had to know Dean wasn't lying.

But no one moved.

Castiel was edging less on the side of anger and had adopted more confusion. He cocked his head at Dean. "I do not understand. How else did you-?"

"I'll prove it," Dean interrupted desperately. Reflexively, he tried to throw some humor in the mix. "I'll prove it's me and then we can go out for beers and strippers forget this whole thing, yeah? Just tell me what you want me to do."

Bobby and Sam both looked to Castiel, who squinted thoughtfully. "If he is possessed, he won't be able to walk through the flames."

"But he's not an angel."

"Michael is."

This was stupid. This was _way_ stupid. Michael wasn't in his head. He was fine. Normal.

Even as he thought those words, the glow in his companion's' eyes increased, and he had to look away. Dean looked down at the flames flickering at his feet. The ring of fire was much hotter than he'd ever anticipated. Screw it.

"Do it," Sam said with a firm nod. "Step over the flames."

Dean snorted. "Fine. I will."

And he would.

He…

….would.

Dean took a step closer to the fire. The heat fanned his face, and he forced himself not to cringe. Was it always like this? He couldn't remember.

Closer and closer. He gasped and stepped back just slightly before steeling himself. He had to prove he was okay. And after this, he was going to punch them so hard, but right now, he had to do it.

He managed to get a few inches away from the edge of the flame. The heat was so intense, he couldn't stop a growl from leaving his lips.

"Wait, Dean," someone said urgently. "Dean, stop it you're going to hurt yourself," Dean ignored the voice. Suddenly, someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back. Castiel stepped over the flames easily and pulled him to the center of the circle, where Dean stayed very still. "Believe me, you will be in agony for weeks."

Dean stared down at the flames with fearful eyes. What was going on? Suddenly, he stiffened. His eyes widened, and he looked over Cass quickly. There was _no way_ he just stepped over that without even hesitating. "Are you okay? How did you do that?"

Castiel released him, and, with a dry look, stepped back outside of the circle. "I'm not an angel."

Dean blinked. What? He forced himself to keep standing. Sam and Bobby's eyes were wide as saucers. He felt like throwing up. Honestly, the fire was so freaking _hot_ it was like sitting in a sauna in a desert. He licked his dry lips nervously. "I-I wasn't lying. I don't understand."

"Me neither?" Sam whispered. "Cass, that's Dean. That's not Michael."

Cass nodded. Bobby watched.

"I know," Cass said. And then again, quieter now. "I know."

Suddenly the heat became far more intense than before. But the heat wasn't from the flames, it was inside him. The heat in his chest along with the heat around him was just too much, Dean dropped to his knees, clawing at his collarbone. He couldn't _breathe_. "Something's- something's wron-"

"Forget it, Cass. We can't keep him in there!"

Cass was torn. He looked to Bobby, who stepped forward and ground out the edge of the flame with his foot.

All at once, the ring, broken now, died down and disappeared.

The heat in his chest and in the air around him disappeared, and he gulped the air in greedily, his heart thumping in terror. It was as if someone had been squeezing his neck. Why the _heck c_ ouldn't he walk through the flames?

Still on his knees, Dean ran shaking hands through his hair and refused to look at his family. They were glowing again. He could feel it.

He needed to stay calm. He needed to stay in control.

But his terror was running rampant and before he knew it, he was on his feet and backing into a corner of the panic room, as far as he could get from the glowing forms that used to be his friends. _You're going crazy._

"Dean!" someone shouted, and Dean thought it was the glowing ball that was Sam. "Dean, calm down!"

But he could not possibly calm down. Not right now. Thunder cracked outside and wind was picking up inside the room. Papers flew through the air, and the ground shook with an earthquake. This only caused more terror to rip through Dean. He clutched the wall and desperately tried to think. What kind of monster was in this room? What was going on? Was something here?

"Dean!" another voice shouted.

Cass. It was Cass.

He looked up at Castiel's glowing face and squinted, trying to see the face on top of it. Or was his face beneath it? Dean couldn't tell. Cass grabbed him by both shoulders. The touch was strangely grounding. "Stop this!" he shouted.

Dean shook his head. "What are you talking about?" he cried over the wind. "Gank the freak!" Whatever it was that was making this happen.

Cass winced as if his words were too loud. He backed up and then both Sam and Cass were in front of him.

Sam had such a beautiful face. Or whatever it was Dean was seeing. That light shined from his chest and pulsed with concern and loyalty and just _Sam_.

As he stared at the light, he was distantly aware of Sam speaking and of the wind slowly dying down. Apparently, whatever creature that burst in here was leaving. Sam's voice was soothing but not nearly as soothing as the light. It made him think of times he and Sam played hide and seek as a kid. It made him think of the Christmas presents Sam used to get him when he was tiny and didn't know how to give gifts and Dean had loved the gifts anyway because Sam had cared enough to give them to him. It made him think of the Fourth of July in the middle of nowhere with a stack of fireworks. It made him think of nights spent sleeping in the Impala with Sam in the backseat and he could hear him breathing and the world was good.

But something wasn't right.

There was a thread of darkness. Spilled ink. Deep inside his brother. It pulsed and growled and snapped at him when he looked at it. _Demon blood. That's the demon blood._

The disgusting thing hissed at Dean and Dean hardened his resolve. There was no way that thing was going to stay in his brother. Somehow, he would figure out how to get it out.

Not now, though.

Dean could feel something. Or rather, a few _someones_. On the front porch. He forced himself to look away from Sam's light. His eyes flicked to the door. "Somebody is here."

"Who?"

Dean didn't know how he knew, but he did. "Angels."

* * *

Sam was terrified. Not many things scared him all that much. When you spent six out of seven days of the week running straight into the mouths of seriously dangerous SOBs and the seventh day stopping the Apocalypse, stuff just didn't really get to you.

But Dean on the floor, in the middle of a mini tornado or lightning and rain and thunder, Dean with wide _glowing_ eyes, Dean crying out in pain in the middle of a ring of fire, Dean shouting and grabbing his head in agony, those things made Sam's soul sick with fear.

Dean wasn't Michael. He couldn't be. Sam would know. He thought that he would know. But how was this happening, then?  
He gripped Dean's shoulder tightly. Bobby was attempting to grab several flying weapons that were swirling around in the mini tornado, but both Sam and Cass knelt in front of Dean.

Dean stared at them with wide eyes. His pupils were completely white, glowing with a harsh blue-white light Sam was very familiar with. Those were an angel's eyes.

How could Dean have the eyes of an angel without being possessed?

As he spoke, the storm slowly died down. Until finally the last threads of wind gave out.

Just as Dean was calm again, almost unconscious, Sam thought, his brother's head shot up with urgency.

"Somebody is here."

"Who?"

"Angel." His answer sent a chill through Sam's bones.

He glanced at Castiel, who visibly paled before his resolve appeared to harden. They stood quickly. Sam quickly stood Dean up, but his brother slumped in his arms just as he had earlier after he was stabbed and another storm had started up.

Cursing, Sam set Dean down on the cot in the corner as gently as possible. "Someone should watch him."

Bobby and Castiel both were not willing to stay, and neither was Sam. Alright fine. They'd take care of this situation, and then get right back to Dean.

Grabbing the nearest weapons, the three jogged up the stairs. They got to the front door and looked out with distaste. Castiel had taken the time to ward the house repeatedly, and so there was little chance the angels could get in without significant effort, but all the same, having them stand on the front porch was not exactly ideal.

And there he smiled thinly at them from the gravel driveway. He checked his wristwatch irritably and swung his blade in the other. Sam rolled his eyes. "Didn't bring all the squad with you, Zach?"

Zachariah smiled thinly at them from the gravel driveway. He checked his wristwatch irritably and swung his blade in the other. Sam rolled his eyes. "Didn't bring all the squad with you, Zach?"

Zachariah blinked and cocked his head that was reminiscent of his younger brother (said little brother was behind Sam probably hoping no one noticed him, which Sam did not blame him for). "Please. You are hardly worth the effort." Sam wondered why someone would willingly choose such a weak looking vessel. A fat, balding man. Maybe they did not have as much of a choice as he assumed. He'd have to ask Cass about that.

"What do you want?" Bobby growled, rifle in hand.

Zachariah sighed. His nostrils flared; a very typical expression of his disgust. "You must realize that will not protect you."

Bobby snorted right back. "Yeah, but I'm thinkin' it might explode your butt ugly face for a minute."

Sam almost laughed. Zachariah's face transformed under his fury, and he stepped forward with the blade still in hand, only to jerk to a stop in front of the porch. His lips hardened into a thin line. "I see Castiel has been a bad boy. Again."

From behind Sam, he felt Cass shiver at the words. He frowned. "You leave him alone." Stepping out onto the porch, Sam let the door slide closed behind him.

The wardings would only last a few minutes. He hefted the angel blade and stared down at Zachariah, enjoying the angel's annoyance. "What do you want?"

"Dean Winchester," he said simply. "He has disappeared off of the face of the Earth. "

Sam's eyes widened. That did not make sense. Dean was just downstairs. "And… you think I'm going to tell you where he is. _You._ You can't possibly be that stupid."

Zachariah scowled. "You'll tell me. I just… need some leverage first." The angel looked around casually, as if he was browsing at a grocery store, not looking for blackmail.

"Ah, what about that funny little soul hiding behind the door, hmm?"

Zachariah smirked. It was hideous.

Sam stepped forward. "You touch him, and I will kill you."

"Oh, will you?"

Sam was ready when the warding snapped, but all the same, he still wasn't fast enough to stab him. Zachariah disappeared and reappeared with an irate Castiel.

Zachariah appraised Castiel. He squinted suspiciously."Do I know you?"

"I'd hope not," Castiel growled. He tried to shove the angel away, but Zachariah just held his shoulder a bit tighter. Castiel hissed in pain and stopped moving.

Suddenly, Zachariah's eyes widened in surprize. "Well, what do you know, the little stray kitten himself. Castiel, I didn't recognize you under all of…" He gestured vaguely to all of Castiel with disgust and ticked his tongue. "Goodness, look what happens when you side with the humans. You're one of them, aren't you? A little mud monkey. How did that happen?"

Castiel said nothing, opting to glare rather dangerously at Zachariah, who just smiled. "Well," Zachariah looked to Sam and Bobby now. "So here's how this is going to work," he continued cheerily. "Either you tell me where Dean is, or little Cassie here will develope a particularly violent, very late case of lung cancer. His lungs will dissolve and he will suffocate in his own blood in… probably two minutes."

Sam did not doubt for a second Zachariah's threat. He would do it. There was no way he could tell the angel where Dean was, but he also couldn't let Cass get hurt.

He hesitated.

And that's when Sam noticed Castiel's bleeding hand.

Before Zachariah could react, Castiel jerked away and pressed his hand against his chest. Under his jacket, he'd drawn an angel banishing symbol.

Zachariah opened his mouth to scream, but a bright light filled the area.

When it faded, Zachariah was nowhere to be seen. Sam exhaled in relief and Castiel grinned up at them. "Good thinking," Sam said.

But suddenly, Castiel's face fell. His eyes widened in horror.

Sam came to the realization at the same time. The symbol did not just banish the angels directly in front of it. It had a significantly wide range. What if...

Dean.

They slammed through the screen door, and Sam took the steps down to the panic room three at a time. He burst inside, Castiel just seconds behind him, and his heart plummeted.

The room was empty.

Dean was gone.

* * *

AN: WOO! We're going to get some explanations in the next chapter and the one after that, so yay! Until then, our poor boys will bask in confusion lol.

Anyway, I had a thought. I wonder what would have happened if Sam had gotten stuck in a holy fire ring or found somewhere warded against angels while possessed by Gadreel. I don't think the show ever addressed that, but I imagine it would have worked on his just like it would work on an angel because there was one inside him... It probably would have been really confusing and traumatic and maybe a bit more of an interesting reveal... hmm...

Anyway, please leave a **_REVIEW._**


	12. Hallelujah

12\. Hallelujah

He woke up falling.

Falling upwards.

There was an intense tug deep in his chest pulling him up into the sky; a hook planted through his chest and latched onto his spine. Dean screamed. He couldn't see anything, and the pressure from the freaking hook made it feel like he was at the bottom of a rocket and was being thrust into space without a spacesuit.

He tumbled and twisted and tried to see anything but the blinding whiteness around him.

All at once, it ended.

Dean slammed into the ground in a dark room and promptly fell over several buckets and then crashed into a wooden wall.

Woah. The silence was heavy, broken only by his panicked breaths.

"Ow." He groaned. His heart beat wildly.

Where was he? What was that? What happened? Was Sam okay? Where were Cass and Bobby?

He forced his eyes open and struggled to his feet as waves of dizziness crashed over him. This was just as bad as the hangovers he used to get when he was younger and couldn't hold his alcohol as well. Dean pinched between his eyes and waved blindly in front of him. His hand met a stick that was heavily weighted at the end. He lifted it and snorted. A mop.

He was in a broom closet.

 _Why am I in a broom closet?_

Just as he thought it, he registered a grumbling voice outside. "Seriously? Again?"

High heeled steps came closer, and Dean gripped the mop tighter.

"At this point, I should just install a landing pad in here..."

The wooden wall opened and lit up the closet. Dean squinted.

And a petite Asian girl with large glasses and a neat, gray pantsuit peeked in. She raised an eyebrow at Dean's choice of a weapon and then snorted.

"Wow. You look like crap. That must have been some sigil."

Dean blinked. Slowly, he lowered the broom as his dizziness settled. "What?"

"Are you going to stand in there all day? Come on." The girl stepped aside to reveal a tidy, white, filing room. She walked over to a desk filled with piles of files and leaned down over it. She flipped one open with a tired sigh.

Dean followed her out cautiously. When the girl said nothing, he cleared his throat. "Uh, who are you?"

The girl looked up and pushed her glasses up her nose. "Ambriel. Hi." She gave a little wave. "This is my office, complete with the miraculous broom closet of banishing sigils." She rolled her eyes. "I drew the short straw. But hey, at least I'm not in the office next to that rockstar's paradise." She wrinkled her nose. "Party music through the walls. All. Day. Long." She fake gagged.

Dean blinked. Something was different about the girl. He couldn't place it. " _Okkaay_ , um, Ambriel, where am I?"

Now Ambriel gave him a look. A look like, _are you serious right now_?. "Heaven? Obviously."

Heaven. Like, _Heaven Heaven._

Dean was pretty certain he hadn't died. And if he had, he wouldn't have ended up in Heaven's closet.

He said the first thing that came to mind. "Heaven has broom closets?"

"Yeah, I mean, the floors don't clean themselves."

"They don't?"

Abriel squinted at him. "Are you okay?" Her eyes widened. "Was it the Winchesters? I bet it was the Winchesters." She rolled her shoulders in a natural sort of movement, and a second later, a pair of wings faded into existence behind her. She didn't appear alarmed, merely reaching back and brushing down a feather which stuck up a bit oddly. "I heard someone was going to check on them…"

Dean stared with wide eyes. _Wings._ The colors were a delicate peach color, and she had them neatly settled on her back. "What are you?"

Ambriel laughed. "Wow. Okay. Funny, right. I'm an angel and you're an angel and you're brains are scrambled eggs because of some heck of a banishing sigil."

What?

"Maybe you should go to the medical ward. I've heard banishing is awful the first few times. Then again, I wouldn't exactly know. I've never been banished, and I'd like to never try it out." Ambriel inspected her nails and then cocked her head concernedly at Dean's lack of a reaction. She straightened and walked toward him. "Hello? Hey, what's wrong?"

Dean took a step away from her and toward the door. "I, uh, I think I'll do that. Go to the, um, the medical ward. Probably best. Yeah." He needed to get out of here. He took a step toward the door, but Ambriel stepped with him. She smiled ruefully. "Come on, I'll take you."

Dean tried to protest, but the girl brushed past him, her wings fluttering slightly. Dean stared. "Friggin' wings," he whispered under his breath. Was this what all angel's wings looked like? Was he seeing them because he was in Heaven? Ambriel exited the office into a long, white hallway lined with doors. Her heels clicked on the tiled floor. Following her cautiously, Dean wished he had some kind of weapon, _any_ weapon. Walking around defenseless was going to drive him mad. Not to mention, if this was Heaven, he was much closer to a bunch of d-bags he'd been avoiding. Angels like Zachariah and Michael and Raphael. They would certainly take advantage of this situation. At his side, Ambriel was keeping up a steady flow of easy, one-sided conversation.

"So what's your garrison?"

Dean flinched, thrust from his thoughts. "Um, I'm kind of a loner, actually."

Snorting like he'd just said something hilarious, Ambriel took a turn down their twisting way. "Yeah, whatever big guy." They passed down several winding halls until Ambriel reached a white door just like the others. She stopped and opened the door.

Instantly, a buzzing set in the back of Dean's mind, and he took a step back instinctively. Ambriel raised her eyebrows at him. "Dude, come on."

Dean forced himself to enter the room.

The hall's ceiling arched up high, lined with miraculous, shining, stained-glass windows. Near the ceiling, Dean stopped to watch pigeons flitting between the arches holding up the roof. The hall reminded him of a medieval throne room. Or perhaps an old Catholic church. It was stunning. But more impressive were the room's occupants. At least four dozen cots were lined in rows down the long hall and most of them were filled with occupants of all sizes and appearances. Some were obviously injured with bandages or the like. Obviously, Heaven was not exactly as peaceful a place as it was advertized to be. They were fighting a war. And apparently, the wounds inflicted were not the sort that healed quickly.

Oh, and they all had wings. Yeah. Each wing was at least six feet in length, sometimes larger, but they all did not seem bothered by what must be a very heavy weight. Some wings were black, others were peach colored like Ambriel. There were a few white wings, some amber colored, and one guy was sporting gray speckled wings not much different from the pigeons that flew in the rafters above them. The angel's murmured conversations sent vibrations down through Dean and froze him in place. No mouths were moving.

"This way." Ambriel led the way through the cots. She waved kindly at a few people who were obviously her friends. A dusty blond who looked no older than fourteen gave her an excited smile when she passed, and then winced when he jostled an injured wing. "Hello, Ambriel!"

"Hey, Samandriel,"

 _This is insane_.

Dean forced his feet, one step after another, to move through the hall and toward a portioned off room. Ambriel led him to the room and entered without knocking. "Someone landed in my broom closet again. He's pretty whacked out. Where is Raphael?"

"Raphael is busy. I am in charge of the medical ward until he gets back."

Dean tried to back out, but it was too late. Raphael? Raphael was in charge of _healing_? Somehow Dean had a hard time imagining the brutish, violent angel ever being gentle enough to heal. He entered, fists clenched at his sides. The room was plain with off-white walls and a warm vase of blue flowers as the only decorations. An older woman with very sharp eyes, white wings and a purple and white uniform gave Dean a once over. "Well, sit down, kiddo."

Dean carefully sat on a small cot. Ambriel cast him a small, nervous smile before waving goodbye. "I've got to go, but, maybe I'll see you later?"

Dean blinked.

Did he just get flirted at by an angel?

Apparently, he took too long to respond. The girl rolled her eyes and backed out of the room. "Like I said, whacked out."

She left Dean.

The nurse, meanwhile, scanned him with a flat palm. He shifted stiffly. _I need to get out of here. Where's Sammy? What happened?_

"What do they call you, sweetheart?"

"Uh..."

Well. He could hardly tell them he was Dean Winchester. His hesitation was apparently taken for something else, however, and the nurse's gaze softened. She tutted her tongue. "Don't worry. It'll come to you. Banishing sigils can be just brutal the first few times."

Dean nodded dumbly.

"How old are you?"

Dean had no idea what was the appropriate response. They all thought he was an angel. Which made no sense at all. They'd figure out there was a mistake in a minute. "Thirty-one," he answered truthfully.

The nurse cocked her head. "I have never seen you around here before. I didn't know souls were still being upgraded at all. You are very lucky. Almost no one gets their wings now that the big man has taken a hike."

Right… these questions were becoming a bit too pointed. He had no idea what she was talking about. He pushed himself off the cot. Time to make a getaway. "Look, that girl was just over-reacting. I feel fine."

"Nonsense. Sit down and let me finish."

Dean pursed his lips. How likely was he to escape if he attacked this woman? _This angel,_ he corrected.

However, he was saved by a sudden buzzing. It raced through the back of his mind like a string between his ears. It took him several seconds to understand the strange lilting the voice had. _Nurse Madriel report to med bay thirty-seven immediately._

The nurse Madriel sighed. She fixed him a stern look. "Stay here. I will return shortly."

With that, she disappeared with a single swoop of her wings, leaving Dean alone and certain he wasn't about to obey her.

Scrambling to his feet again, Dean rushed to the door.

However, when he opened it, instead of being greeted by the long hall, he found himself in a forest at night.

"Great."

The door shut behind him and disappeared, leaving Dean standing on the gravel-like dirt.

The change in scenery was so abrupt, it almost made him dizzy. The air was wet from rain earlier than night, and the moon winked down at him from behind a few drifting clouds while summer crickets buzzed in the forest around him. "What the…" He spun in a slow circle.

Was Heaven supposed to do this?

Carefully, Dean took some steps forward. He could see a little shack or something just in the distance despite the lack of lighting. He approached it warily, and an eyebrow rose when he recognized the song seeping between the cracks in the door and shuttered windows.

Someone sang slightly off key right along with Bon Jovi, and Dean cocked his head. Who was in the shack? Why was Dean here?

He had a few options here. Either run the other way and try to figure out how to escape, or… give in to his curiosity.

Right, so, of course, he approached the shack. With leaves crackling beneath his feet, Dean walked up to the door and turned the knob. The door opened with a creak which was drowned out by the music, and Dean stepped inside of a room lit with yellow light from a dangling light bulb. His eyes widened. The room was much larger on the inside than it had appeared on the outside. Constructions tools and car parts lined the floors and were piled on a long workbench, and in the center of the room, a pair of sneakers (they nodded along with the beat) peeked out from beneath a car Dean instantly recognized as a 1967 Shelby mustang. It was painted a startling shade of yellow.

Dean cleared his throat, and suddenly the music volume decreased. "Nice car," he said, leaning back against the work bench with his arms crossed. _I mean, I'd never drive something yellow, but still._ He appreciated anyone who could at least remotely appreciate history.

The man under the car froze. The music faded even further into the background, and slowly, the black sneakers rolled out from under the car to reveal a man no older than Dean. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt and jeans that were covered in oil stains. He didn't sit up but flicked a strand of his dark, shoulder-length hair out of his eyes. He had a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once, maybe twice, and it gave him a rugged look and had olive colored skin which marked him as Mediterranean. "Thanks, I found it just outside of Florida." He didn't offer any more explanation and rolled back under the car. That look which was just a bit smug reminded Dean of Gabriel. However, this man's green eyes lacked the malice Gabriel had picked up in his centuries down on Earth.

Dean leaned down to look at him from under the car, and the guy stuck his hand out. "Think you could hand me that thingy?" He pointed vaguely at a monkey-wrench in a toolbox just out of his reach without looking, and Dean shrugged. He sat down on a wooden crate and handed the dude his tool. He shoud ask him how to get home. Maybe the guy could help him.

"Thanks." The guy's voice was muffled by the car.

"Sure?" Dean frowned curiously at the man. He could only really see the edges of his jeans and shoes. He had X's tattooed onto the top of his wrists, Dean saw when he reached for another tool. Dean handed him the tool the guy had been groping for. Bon Jovi continued to murmur in the background, and the light bulb above them swung on some unfelt wind.

"You're welcome, Dean, by the way," the guy said after thirty seconds or so of silence.

Dean's eyes rose in surprize. He knew his name. How did he know his name? Was he an angel? He didn't have wings, but then again, before today, angels had never had wings as far as Dean was concerned.

"For what? Do I know you?"

"That was two questions." The guy pushed himself from beneath the car and this time sat up. He grinned a bit ruefully at Dean and leaned back casually on his car. A bottle of something Dean realized was root beer appeared in the guy's hand, and he took a long drink. He sighed in satisfaction. "I love this stuff."

Dean grunted. "You didn't answer my questions."

"You're correct." He took another drink and set the bottle down. It clicked on the concrete. Thoughtfully, the man squinted. "I'm the one who sent your nurse on an errand and brought you here."

Dean could have guessed that. "Why?"

"Woah." He held up a hand. "Second question first. You don't know me."

"Yeah. But you know me." Dean shifted his weight on the wooden crate as the guy cast him another look.

"I know everyone."

What was that supposed to mean? Dean considered the man before him. He looked like any other guy you might find in a repair shop anywhere across the midwest. But there was something in those green eyes…

"Who are you?"

"Name's Yeshua," He rolled his eyes at Dean's blank look. " _Right_. You probably don't recognize that name since you're from the west. They translated it, like, a bazillion times."

"What do they call you 'in the west' then?"

The guy smirked. "Jesus."

* * *

AN: *coughs*

I like Chuck, I really do, and he might show up later, but... yeah I had an idea and sort of threw myself into it. I'm guessing since you guys are fans of spn, you're not the sort of people offended by canonical 'tweeking'. So yeah.


	13. How To Save A Life

13\. How To Save A Life

"You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

He did not.

Dean was still reeling in shock. His hands held very tight onto the wooden crate beneath him. This didn't make sense.

The guy (Jesus, literally Jesus) seemed to find his reaction amusing. He took another sip of his root beer and raised an eyebrow. "This _is_ Heaven. Is it so much of a surprise?"

Yes. Yes it was.

Dean frowned. "So you're dead then... Jesus. This is your Heaven."

"No, and yes. And I kinda have a preference for my actual name if you don't mind," Jesus or Yeshua or whatever he felt like calling himself replied casually. "This _is_ my Heaven. But not because I'm dead. Didn't you ever go to Sunday school?"

Dean had. He'd spent weekends at Pastor Jim's and even tagged reluctantly along with Sam when Sam was in a church-going phase as a preteen.

But those were just stories.

Yeshua rolled his eyes. "A demon told you I was just a man and you believed it?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. Okay, so angels and demons and everything else was real. Apparently, Jesus was too. Great.

"So you're, who, _God_?" The thought was insane.

Yeshua nodded. "Yup. Dad is too, obviously and you know, but..." He considered something. "Yeah, I'm not going to try to explain the three-in-one thing to you."

Out of all the surreal things to happen lately, this was probably the craziest. Wasn't God supposed to be off somewhere? Wasn't that the whole reason the Apocalypse was happening? Daddy wasn't home and the angels were throwing a temper tantrum trying to get his attention.

Yeshua's eyes darkened.

"They have my attention," Yeshua muttered. Could he read Dean's mind? He drew his knees up and rested his elbows on them while the bottle of soda dangled from his fingers. He looked very tired right then.

Something hardened in Dean, and he scowled at this strange man before him. "So the world ending, and you're just up here ignoring it fixing your friggin' car?" Typical. He stood angrily and turned to walk some feet away. "Do you even care?"

Suddenly, the light flickered, and when it came on, Yeshua was standing directly in front of Dean. He poked him in the chest. Hard.

"Everything I do, I do because I care. Do not presume to understand, Dean Winchester." The look in his eyes was dangerously dark, and Dean pointedly reminded himself this was _God_ he was talking to, even if he looked like a skinny mechanic.

"Explain it to me, then," he whispered.

For a long second, Yeshua glared at him. But slowly, his irritation melted from his eyes to be replaced by fatigue and just a bit of sadness. He ran a worried hand over his eyes. "I won't intervene directly. I shouldn't. It isn't fair to them."

Dean frowned. "To who?"

"To you. To the angels." Distinct frustration swirled in those deep green irises. "I raised them to be too dependent on me. If they can't solve their own problems, prove their own worth, make their own choices, then what's the point?" he ranted.

Was he talking about free will? "You're saying you left so little birdies could fly on their own," Dean grunted.

"I didn't leave," Yeshua corrected quickly. "But, yes, in essence." He smirked ruefully. "I mean, I've still got to intervene for the humans, etc., and, um, do damage control when certain angels decide to have an uprising." An eye roll at that. "But 'you can't know light without darkness' right?" He cocked his head, and his eyes flicked over Dean's skeptical face. "It's a difficult thing," Yeshua continued. "When to come in, when to give you all space. It's a thin tightrope we're crossing. Too far on one side and you may be perfect, but only because I'm making you be so. Too far on the other side, and everyone is convinced I'm abandoning them." He rubbed his neck irritably.

Dean kept his arms crossed. The guy did seem honestly worried. Dean was at a loss whether to trust that or not.

"However," Yeshua continued pointedly. "I can't let the angels ruin the Earth. It is hardly time for the end of the world."

Dean shrugged. "Then why don't you just stop it?"

With a tinge of mania coloring the edges, Yeshua laughed. "Didn't you just _hear_ me? Look, I am working on a solution. What do you think I'm doing right now? You really believe I have chats with people all the time? No, I'm working behind the scenes." He gestured to Dean in a vague sort of way. "Still got to save the world. Stop their stupid boxing match. Believe me, when the Apocalypse actually comes, it's not _Michael_ who will be defeating Lucifer. So, here you are. Top Secret Plan: Dean Winchester."

Yeah... he didn't like the sound of that. Dean wrinkled his nose critically. What the heck was it supposed to mean? He wanted him to clean this mess up? Well great, buddy, he was already working on that.

He didn't like the sound of that. Dean wrinkled his nose critically. What the heck was it supposed to mean? He wanted him to clean this mess up? Well great, buddy, he was already working on that.

Yeshua rolled his eyes. "I am not referring to your skills as a hunter. Although, you guys really are strangely good at saving the world. " He smirked. "No, see, usually, I don't upgrade humans until they're dead, but you were going to die in a second anyway- your exploding friend, ya know- so… I bent the rules. I do that sometimes."

The swift change in subject and tone left Dean unbalanced. He cocked his head confusedly and remembered the nurse's earlier words. Hadn't she said something about upgrades as well? Dean's brain felt way too slow even for himself. He still had no idea what he meant. "Upgrade?"

"Yeah. Your buddy's Grace would have killed you otherwise." Yeshua's tired attitude was gone, replaced by a contagious energy. He punched Dean lightly on the shoulder. "I _could_ have put _his_ Grace into you… but, no. It's better this way. More permanent. So… gave you a pair of wings all of your own. You can't see them yet, but they're there. Can't be a vessel if you're an angel. Nuh-uh. Especially when you're a strong willed kid like you. It would be impossibly cramped. No Winchester Vessel, no apocalypse." He wrinkled his nose and reconsidered. "Well, it will make it more difficult anyway," he grumbled. "Angels are stubborn..."

Dean hardly heard any of the rest of his words. He was stuck on four.

 _If you're an angel._

An angel.

Angel?

It clicked. Somewhere in his head. An irrational panic had him stumble back a step. The simplest solution to all of the weird things going on with him was just offered to him by God himself.

"What!" he cried.

" _Okaaay_... usually people just say thank you, but I'll take it."

"But, _what_? No! I can't- you can't make _me_ an angel!"

Yeshua raised a single eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Uh, why not? It's genius. And to top it off, you've still got a soul. Which is why this is a bit of a shaky transition, by the way."

Why not? _Why not_!?

"I'm- I am not a friggin' choir boy. I'm not even a good person! I use your name as a _curse_ word!"

Another eye roll. This look was more affectionate. "Yeah, that is irritating." But there wasn't really any malice in the words. It was strange to see kindness like that in the eyes of a stranger, and it made Dean distinctly uncomfortable. "You'll grow into it all. Besides, it's not about earning anything, I mean, that would take _forever_." He held up a hand as an idea seemed to occur to him. "Oh, oh! It's like this. Okay, let's play a game. Name some famous person. Like, Bible person."

What? A game? Seriously? Dean's heart was thumping way to fast in his chest. He forced himself to breathe, and he cleared his throat. "Why?"

"Just do it."

"Um, Paul?" he grunted

Yeshua shrugged. "Mass murderer."

"Moses?"

"Coward. Murderer. Also, he had the _worst_ stutter. Why do you think I made him just write stuff down instead of having him speak?"

Dean's eyes widened. "You carved the ten commandments… because your prophet had a stutter."

"Technically, it was Dad who was talking to him, but… yes. And because words in stone are more substantial and all that." He sighed. "Moses was insanely irritating when he was young, actually. We almost found someone else instead when we were first talking to him. But, I didn't. Good thing too, right?" He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. His strange pronoun usage just made it more difficult to track with him. "Right. One more."

Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. He got where the guy was going with this. "Abraham," he muttered.

Yeshua snorted. "Adulterer. Womanizer. Coward. Like, repeatedly he was so afraid of the kings of the countries he was passing through, he made his wife pretend to be his _sister_ so that if the king took a shining to her, he wouldn't be killed to get him out of the way. Literally twice he pulled that stunt. We were _pissed._ "

Dean didn't know that. He kept his arms crossed. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, I'm just saying, it would be stupid for me to look for a perfect person when I didn't _make_ any perfect people. Even the angels are flawed." He gave Dean one last look over. "What's one more winged d-bag, right?"

Dean shifted his weight and stuck his hands in his pockets. Skepticism was like a rock in his stomach. It almost hurt, and it was screaming at him to make the guy turn him back. What's one more winged d-bag? No! _This is_ my _life._

Instead, he stared down at Yeshua's black sneakers and wondered how the heck he ended up in situations like this. He was just so tired.

As he processed, Yeshua took another drink of his seemingly never ending bottle of root beer.

"What about Cass?" Dean asked suddenly. "He's supposed to be an angel."

"Is he?" Another drink. "Do you want one of these, by the way?"

"No. And yes, he's an angel. He was always an angel. Was his Grace really destroyed?"

"Yes."

"Can you change him back?"

Yeshua considered this. "I could."

"But you won't."

"I won't."

"Why not?"

His eyes glittered. "Well, I shouldn't spoil the story. I _made_ him lose his Grace, Dean. If he hadn't," Here his expression saddened again. "Believe me, you would not like the person he becomes."

Dean didn't know what to make of that.

On one hand, Cass was miserable as a mortal. On the other, as a human, he was… _alive._ Dean couldn't really describe it. He settled on a vague expression of disgust.

Above Dean and Yeshua, the light bulb flickered and shook. In the distance, thunder rumbled. The music turned up again and this time Dean found himself raising an eyebrow at the song choice. "Not that I'm complaining, but isn't it, like, _bad_ for you to listen to stuff like this?"

Yeshua scoffed. "AC/DC has to do with electricity. You know that."

You better bet Dean did

At another rumble of thunder, Dean looked at his companion questioningly

"That would be my cue, Deano," Yeshua sighed. "I guess you should get back to saving the world and all that jazz."

He turned back to his car and knelt down to get under it again, but Dean stepped forward quickly. "Wait."

Yeshua waited. "Yeah?"

"Should- should I- am I allowed to tell people you're up here?" It hadn't really occurred to him until this moment. The angels didn't know Yeshau was even here.

Yeshua cocked his head as he considered this. "It is probably best to not. Not yet, anyway. When it's okay for your friends to know, there won't be any chance they miss me. The angels can draw their own conclusions."

Slowly, Dean nodded. He didn't like it, but this was God he was talking to. He wasn't an idiot. Mostly. "What about Cass? He's still looking for you."

Another nod. "I told you, Dean, I'm working on him. Just give me some time."

Dean was not an extremely patient person. At all. He was on the verge of telling him to hurry it up when Yeshua fixed him with a very heavy look. "I know you don't think you can trust me, Dean. But _I_ trust the person you could be. And that's what matters."

Why were gods always so friggin' cryptic?

The lights went out.

Thunder rolled.

The ground dropped beneath Dean's feet.

And when he could see again, Dean was alone on the sidewalk of a busy city street.

Earth.

Home.

He took a deep breath, and suddenly his stomach heaved. He fell rather suddenly into his knees.

Dizziness kept him there. The air was too thick. The spinning Earth too fast. The stars and the planets and all of the people were zooming at a trillion miles an hour through time and space and-

no.

Quiet. It was quiet.

Everything was still.

Dean breathed.

Did that seriously just happen? Had he really just been in _Heaven?_

Dean ran shaking hands through his hair and screwed his eyes shut. Sam was going to flip out. They all were. Dean forced himself to breath in and out. He shouldn't be falling apart like this. He'd been alright before.

The air was chilly and wet and foggy, and Dean distantly realized he had no idea where he was.

That's when he heard someone splash through a puddle. "Yo, kiddo, you okay?" A crunch. "Huh. So they're stationing fledglings? Must be getting desperate..."

A candy wrapper crinkled and dropped in front of Dean.

And Dean looked up to meet the eyes of a very familiar archangel. Gabriel nearly dropped his lollipop. His eyes bugged, and he jerked back. "Is that _you_ , Winchester?"

* * *

AN: Sorrynotsorry for like the fifth cliffhanger in a row! But at least I'm updating twice a week, so that's something. ANYWAY. Yeah, this chapter just sort of... happened and I'm not really happy with it, but I'm tired of tweaking. Please tell me what you think with a **_Review_ ** if you enjoy this story!


	14. My Sanity Is A House Of Cards

14\. My Sanity Is A House Of Cards

"Hello? Earth to Dean! Yo! Stop ignoring me!" _Prick_.

Gabriel was really good at ignoring things he didn't like. It was an art, at this point. The key? Distraction.

And, woah, if this wasn't some kind of _insane_ distraction from his distraction, he didn't know what was. Dean Winchester was a giant, neon _Get Away From Here, Gabe,_ sign. If he wasn't so flat out shocked, he might have just flown out immediately. He'd had quite enough with the Winchesters, thank you very much, at their last meeting. (A meeting where he ended up in a circle of holy fire and was _totally_ humiliated). He didn't even like to think about that day. He'd been an idiot to even try to help them. They'd just tried to convince him to get on their side, which was not the plan. But worse, _they'd almost succeeded._ If his common sense hadn't shown up at the last moment, who knew where he'd be right now.

Probably doing something stupid and dangerous and brave and getting himself killed for what was right.

 _No,_ he corrected mentally. _There isn't a 'right' in the situation. There's just idiots and bigger idiots._ Sheesh. It was like he was growing a consciousness or something.

But, of course, Dean had to drop at his feet. Literally. And mess up his wonderful live-it-up-while-the-world-ends plan.

Sighing, Dean got to his feet and finally met his eyes. The guy looked exhausted. The knees of his jeans were wet from the pavement. "Just when I needed _more_ angels," he grunted in Enochian.

Enochian.

Gabriel's mouth dropped open.

Did he even realize?

Gabriel was still so shocked, he didn't even shoot an insult back. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he poked Dean with the sticky end of his sucker. Dean rocked back on his heels and glanced down at the candy with a raised eyebrow. Not an illusion. "You're…" Gabriel's brow wrinkled in bafflement. " _What?_ "

Rolling his eyes, Dean brushed the sucker off and started walking away. He shoved his hands in his pockets with slumped shoulders and pushed past stragglers on both sides of the street. People didn't appear to take any notice of either of them. This was Gabriel's doing.

"Technically, I'm an _arch_ angel, btw!"

"Screw you!" Dean shot back.

Well. That was better than silence.

"Oh, _thanks_!" And when Dean didn't slow, "Wait! _Hey_ , what is going on?"  
"I wouldn't tell you if I knew," Dean said again over his shoulder. He weaved in between some people and frowned at the buildings around him. Was he lost?

Gabriel watched his pulsing soul bounce between the crowd. It wasn't just a soul. There was angel Grace in there. And a lot of it, by the way. And _oh_ it wasn't someone else's Grace. He wasn't possessed. Gabriel would recognize Michael in an instant. No, no. That was 100%, all natural, Proudly Made in America, Dean Winchester. With his own angel Grace.

He couldn't see any wings, but Dean just probably didn't know how to manifest them.

What the heck?

Gabriel spread his own wings and landed in front of Dean, who stopped suddenly. His eyes flashed irritably before his gaze flicked behind Gabriel. Unsuccessfully, Dean tried to hide his fascination as Gabriel tucked his triple pairs of wings to rest against his spine. Gabriel smirked. "You like?"

And... there went the fascination. Dean shrugged, arms crossed. "You've got a bunch of massive bananas on your back."

Gabriel snickered and reached a hand back to comb down an unruly _golden_ feather. _Not yellow, thanks._ "Hmm," he replied without missing a beat. "You know what they say about mud monkeys and bananas."

"You disgust me."

"Love you too."

Okay. So maybe bickering with him wasn't his smartest choice. Dean pushed past him a bit roughly (which Dean could actually do now apparently) and continued on his aimless walk down down the street. Gabriel groaned to himself and stuck his tongue out at him.

Fine. New tactic.

He hurried after Dean on foot. Dean didn't stop for him and kept his eyes ahead. Gabriel wasn't deterred.

"Just a bit of an explanation, Dean. Please? You're one of us now, yeah? How did that happen?"

No reply.

" _Deeaann_."

"Piss off, Gabriel. It's none of your business."

Gabriel snorted. "Yeah, that's not gonna fly." He gestured above his head, and a golden halo appeared and blinked. "Look. See that? Angel. Me. You? Also angel. My business. Easy math."

That finally made Dean stop. He turned on him with a dark look. "Look, dirtbag, that's like saying just because someone is human, it makes them _my_ business."

The halo disappeared, and Gabriel threw his hands in the air. "Humans don't have five times the power of a nuclear bomb! They are hardly comparable!"

Dean just huffed and tried to keep going, but this time, Gabriel grabbed his shoulder. Glowering, Dean clenched his jaw. "Let go of me."

"Not until you tell me how you ended up with wings, sucker."

He could see Dean trying to think of a way out of this. He apparently didn't find one because he sighed. "Fine! I said _fine_. Now, let go of me."

Gabriel did.

Immediately, Dean ducked and ran.

Gabriel tried to grab his jacket as he darted, but wasn't quite fast enough. Within a few seconds, he was gone. Wonderful.

That was… typical. Gabriel exhaled dramatically. He should have expected something like that. Whatever.

He spread his wings and a second later planted a hand on Dean's chest, pushing and holding him against the brick wall of a dank, dirty alleyway. Dean struggled, but Gabriel pushed harder, and Dean growled in frustration. He was stuck. "Don't screw with me, Winchester. I asked you a question."

"Several questions."

"Would you _stop_ being so bull headed for a second!" Honestly! He wasn't trying to kill him or anything for once. It would just be nice to know why Dean Winchester wasn't human anymore.

Slowly. He cocked his head at Dean. "Did you die? Is that what happened?"

"If you shut up for a second, I'll tell you."

Picky. Gabriel shut his mouth and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I didn't die," Dean spat. "Someone decided the Apocalypse isn't on the menu and took me off the playing board. There. Happy?"

Gabriel's eyes widened. What? "Who?" he asked immediately.

Something uncomfortable entered Dean's eyes. He shifted his weight under Gabriel's forearm. "You are supposed to, uh, 'draw your own conclusions'."

Gabriel stilled.

Slowly, he let up the pressure holding Dean to the wall. His eyes glazed. This time, Dean didn't move. He watched Gabriel remember the last time someone told him to make his own conclusions.

 _Father was furious. He gripped his scalp and paced the throne room so quickly electricity was building up in the air. The cherubs cowered in the corners of the room beneath the pressure of their creator's anger and anguish. "He_ got inside, _Gabriel" he practically shouted. Thunder crackled above, and Gabriel tried to remember to breathe. He was suddenly very glad Father was very good at multi-tasking. "Lucifer_ talked _to them and now-_ now…"

 _All at once, Father's anger drained away and he was left with nothing but that anguish. He slowed and stood there alone in the center of the large, ceilingless room. Gabriel wasn't sure which was worse, seeing him furious or seeing him like this. Carefully, the archangel stepped out of the shadows. His wings rustled in the silence. "Maybe they won't listen to him," he tried. "Maybe-"_

 _Father silenced him stone cold with a glare. "Everyone listens to him, Gabriel. That's the problem. He talked to Eve and now they're hiding. Draw your own conclusion."_

 _Draw your own conclusion. This was a new concept for Gabriel, but Father kept saying this. He kept pressing him to have ideas of his own. It was… jarring._

 _Taking a deep breath, Gabriel nodded once sharply. "I'll get Michael. We'll alert the battalions and try to get a headstart after Lucifer."_

" _Thank you." His voice was soft now. He rubbed his neck anxiously but smiled at Gabriel's concerned look. "Go on, kiddo. We'll fix this."_

Gabriel knew exactly who would tell him to draw his own conclusions; who would drop an angel-who-should-be-human right at his feet. There was only one being who upgraded souls; someone who could do it while the person was _still alive._

But

 _No way._

Dean was acting like he'd spoken to Him.

After a second, Gabriel realized Dean was still talking. "Yo. Dude. You okay?" Dean said. Dean almost looked concerned. Aw, sweet.

Gabriel nodded. There was an extremely conflicted set of emotions racing through him right now. Relief and fear and bitterness and excitement and joy and loneliness and _he just couldn't feel all that at once._

Excitement won out. "It was _Him_ , wasn't it?" He grabbed Dean by both shoulders in his earnestness.

Dean bit his lip and shrugged. _Which was a yes. Absolutely, a yes._ Gabriel let out a whoop and flung himself into the sky on impulse. He flipped and came back down grinning. "He's been here the whole time, hasn't he?"

"I got that impression."

Gabriel laughed, but it broke a bit. He couldn't quite stop that. He was torn. On one hand, he was furious. He'd been alone for _so_ long and he'd prayed for such a long time without a peep. And here was idiot Dean Winchester who actually _talked_ to Him. How the heck was that fair? (Then again, he'd been pretending to be a pagan god for centuries so maybe it wasn't that surprising the actual God wasn't talking to him)

And on the other hand, _Dad was home._ He hadn't realized how much he'd been hoping for that until this moment. The relief was monumental.

It also meant, shoot, the apocalypse was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard of. Silly sibling rivalry.

And _obviously_ , Dad wasn't in favor of it. He literally created a _new species_ of angel to keep Dean from being a vessel (and, yeah, an angel who _also_ had a human soul, not just an upgraded soul, totally counted as a new species)

"Michael can't possess me," Dean was saying, "Or, that's what I'm assuming. Angels can't possess angels, right?"

Gabriel's words came so quickly in his excitement, they fumbled over each other. "Right. Not usually, anyway. The possessed angel would have to be seriously diminished in power and completely without willpower or else the vessel would disintegrate. And I don't even know what would happen to you because that's not a vessel. There are a soul _and_ Grace in here" He gestured at Dean's body. Dean just shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well whatever." He shoved his hands into his pockets again and moved past Gabriel to enter the flow of people on the sidewalk. "Anyway, there you go. That's your explanation."

After a moment of hesitation, Gabriel followed Dean. He was furious and ecstatic, and it took all of his self-control to not lose control of his vessel. That would be probably very bad.

They were walking again, quickly and with purpose, but without any particular direction. Dean didn't stop Gabriel from keeping pace with him, probably resigned to his company.

There was something Gabriel didn't get, though. Why was Dean all prickly and weird? He asked him bluntly and got a disgusted look in response.

"Maybe you don't understand, but _changing someone's species_ without permission is kinda not cool."

Gabriel snorted. He had to walk quickly to keep up with Dean's larger strides. "He doesn't need permission, Deano."

"Still."

Seriously? How pig headed could he be? He was practically immortal and had a butt-load of abilities humans couldn't even dream of! Why exactly was this a bad thing? However, Gabriel had the sense to actually hold his tongue for once. He shrugged nonchalantly. Wasn't his problem anyway

In the end, Gabriel didn't need to do anything to alter Dean's attitude. After a few minutes, Dean sighed dramatically and waved his hands in a _screw it_ sort of gesture. He glanced at Gabriel and his lip quipped. "This is insane," he said. "I'm _insane_. _You're_ friggin Willy Wonka _bonkers_."

Gabriel chuckled. "I've been told."

A pause. And then: "Don't tell anyone. About, all this." He gestured vaguely at himself.

" I doubt anyone would believe me if I did," Gabriel replied quickly. He conjured a bag of M&Ms just because of that Willy Wonka comment and downed a handful as they continued toward a river bank. The city was busy and loud and rushing, but in the strange little bubble of don't-see-me Gabriel had created, the world was calm. Gabriel enjoyed this. He thought Dean did as well. But perhaps Dean was weirded out by it... Winchesters were hard to read.

Dean chewed his lip. "It does mean the apocalypse plans are kind of derailed."

" _Mostly_ ," Gabriel considered. "I mean, they could still find someone else for Michael maybe, but it will certainly slow everything down. Course, Lucifer is still running around. So somebody's got to take care of that…" He lapsed into his thoughts and only noticed their location when Dean's breath caught.

"London," Dean said. "This is London."

They were along the edge of a large river. Across, the top of the London Eye was obscured by fog. Gabriel stuck his hands into his pockets and nodded. Did he not know? "Yup. I was here teaching these stuck up brothers a lesson in social etiquette. They have to say _brother dearest,_ after every sentence they say to each other. They are really creative at making this sound like an insult, though, so I may need to expand it to saying _darling_ when they talk to their friends."

Dea snorted. The chilly wind whipped around them, but neither angel was bothered. Dean's brow wrinkled. "I am an entire ocean away from home."

Gabriel didn't see why this was a problem. He inspected his nails idly. "Uh huh. You have wings, Dean," he answered drying. "Just fly back." He was surprised by the look of utter horror Dean gave him. Dean covered that up quickly, but not quickly enough, and Gabriel would have teased an explanation out of himself, but Dean turned away quickly and started walking toward a phone booth. "I'm not leaving. Just calling Sam," he said over his shoulder when Gabriel started to protest. "Sheesh."

Dean shut the door and left Gabriel out leaning on the railing over the Thames. Gabriel looked down at his murky reflection, and his wings arched behind him. They were like their own sun. He had a decision here. Walk away before he got too involved. Stay safe and armored…

Or figure out how to stop this stupid cat fight between his brothers.

Dad cared. Dad was still upstairs. Watching.

And that was was worth so much. Gabriel didn't understand why He let them all think He was gone, but the part of him that remembered his Dad's voice, the part of him that remembered Dad ruffling his hair and giving him toys that were purposefully noisy to irritate his brothers and teaching him how to sing and fly and making candy just for Gabe; that part of him just couldn't seem to care He'd been gone for so long. It didn't matter _because he was back._ And better yet, He'd never left.

Gabriel tossed a rock into his reflection and watched the ripples carry the light of his golden Grace across the river until it stretched the breadth of the water.

To Gabriel's surprise, he stayed.

* * *

Sam was running on four Redbulls and pure willpower. He hadn't slept in at least three days, and Castiel wasn't in much better shape.

The Impala bumped over a hole in the road, and the former angel's head nodded and knocked against the window, but he didn't wake up. They'd driven through the night, trying to get to their last lead on Dean.

With his hands on the wheel, Sam cleared his throat, which was scratchy from the remnants of a cold, and he forced himself to concentrate on the road. At all times, his stomach rolled with fear. _Where was he?_ He couldn't possibly stay gone forever, could he? Dean had to have landed _somewhere._

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket on the seat between him and Cass, and he almost ignored it.

But his gaze flicked to the device instead. It was probably Bobby. He picked it up and flipped open the phone.

"Hey, Bobby. Found anything?"

Silence. Someone breathed.

Sam frowned. "Hello? Who is this?"

"... It's, hah, good to hear you, Sammy."

Sam jerked in shock, and the car swerved violently. He jammed the phone between his ear and his shoulder and righted the car. " _Dean_?!"

Dean chuckled. "In the flesh."

Quickly, Sam smacked Cass on the shoulder a few times until he opened his eyes and squinted at him confusedly. _It's Dean,_ Sam mouthed.

Instantly, all exhaustion fled from Castiel's eyes.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked. "Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Dean answered. He sounded tired. "Really. I'm fine."

"What happened?" Castiel asked.

Sam repeated the question.

A pause.

"I woke up in Heaven's broom closet."

Sam blinked and frowned confusedly at Cass. "He says he woke up in Heaven."

Cass's eyes widened, but Dean began to speak again.

"Sam… I..." He laughed brokenly, which only made Sam more worried.

"Where are you, Dean? I'll come. I'll pick you up."

A snort. "You're good. I'm in… London."

What? How the heck did he end up there? "Like, _Europe_?"

"Yeah. This call is probably gonna cost a fortune… Oh, and you won't believe who I ran into."

"Who?"

"Gabriel."

Sam cursed quickly. "Dean, he's dangerous. You have to get away from him."

He could imagine Dean nodding. "Yeah, I know. But it's okay. We have an understanding." Sam had no idea how that could have happened. Last time they saw each other, they'd been trying to kill each other.

There was a tension in the way Dean was breathing that Sam recognized even over the phone. Something was wrong. _Really_ wrong.

"I'm gonna try to get a flight back as soon as possible," Dean continued.

"You need money?"

"Naw, I've still got my card."

"What about a passport?"

Dean thought about this. "Uh, yeah. I'll figure it out."

Sam chewed his lip. He pulled to the side of the road so he could concentrate on this conversation entirely. "Why don't you just have Gabriel fly you back?"

Dean said nothing.

Sam waited. Cass was giving him desperate _what is going on_ looks. "He's in London with Gabriel," Sam whispered. This only made Castiel more confused, of course.

"You still there, Dean?"

A grunt.

Right... "Dean, what's wrong?"

More silence. And then a tired sigh. "Yeah. I thought it would be easy to say this, but it's not. So, I'm just going to go for it."

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek. "Okay?"

"I'm…" He cleared his throat. "The reason I was stuck in the holy oil and… just... I… I know the answer."

Was that what this was about? "We know, Dean. You're possessed."

"No. No, it ain't like that. I'm not possessed. I told you I'd never say yes."

Sam frowned. "Then how...?"  
Dean laughed without any humor at all. "We're idiots, Sam. It worked that way because…"

" _Why_ , Dean?"

"Because _I'm_ the angel."

 _Because I'm the angel._

What?

Did he just hear him right?

"Me. An angel. That's all."

Sam blinked and cocked his head. "You're a- you- you're a _what?_ "

Dean kept going. Now that he'd started, he couldn't seem to stop. "That's why I don't feel tired and hungry, why I can see demons' faces and your eyes were glowing and I knew when people were lying. I was looking at your _soul,_ Sam. I was looking at all of their souls, and I didn't realize it. And I just ended up in Heaven, and they all had wings, like, real wings, and they kept thinking I was one of them and someone tried to take me to some sort of hospital thing, and they kept talking about how souls get upgraded, but I thought they were making a mistake. They weren't. Sam, they _weren't_. My friggin upgrade got rushed."

Slowly, Sam dropped the phone. He stared at nothing until Castiel nudged him. "Sam, what is wrong? Make his voice loud."

Sam frowned. He picked up the phone again. "How is that even possible, Dean?" he said loudly. "You can't just _change_ species all of the sudden!"

Castiel groaned exasperatedly. "Sam!"

"Fine." Sam pressed a button and set the phone on the dashboard. "You're on speakerphone!"

"Are you alright, Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Peachy, Cass."

Cass frowned. "You are using sarcasm."

Meanwhile, Sam's mind was buzzing. Upgraded souls… That was a thing? It made sense. He'd thought it was because Dean was possessed. That had been the most obvious answer to all of the strange things he did.

But this actually made _more_ sense. If it was possible, that is. It was why Dean was so freaking confused when he couldn't get through the fire and why he didn't know who was making that tornado in the basement. If he'd said yes, he would have known the answer. He wouldn't have been so freaked out.

"Can humans become angels?" Sam asked Cass suddenly.

Cass squinted, trying to figure out where the question came from, probably. "Yes. But only after they have died."

"Yeah, well," Dean piped up from the dashboard. "Someone changed the rules."

Cass considered this with a furrowed brow and realization set in. "You… you're an angel." A complex set of emotions flashed through Castiel's eyes, but Sam was too busy thinking to consider them.

"Apparently," Dean grunted.

Why would someone do that? Why do that to Dean? Unless… Sam's eyes widened. "But this is great, Dean! You can't be Michael's vessel if you're not human! Right?"

"Uh huh…" There was some scuffling on the other line. Both Cass and Sam listened carefully to Dean's muffled voice.

 _Would you stop that?_ Dean said to someone. It took Sam a moment to realize the someone was probably Gabriel. The _other_ angel.

"I've got to go," Dean said over the phone. "I'll try to call later."

Sam nodded, and then realized he needed to speak. "O… okay. We'll be at Bobby's."

There was some shuffling, but Sam spoke again before Dean could hang up.

"And, um, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't freak out, okay? It's alright. We'll figure this out."

Another tattered laugh. But when he spoke, his words were warm. "Thanks, Sammy. See ya, Cass."

"Goodbye, Dean."

The phone went dead.

And Sam was cut off from his brother once more. Relief and fear and shock and confusion all at once went washing through him. Castiel didn't seem to be in any better shape. He was staring blankly at the phone.

How did they get themselves into places like this? To think, just a few years ago, they didn't even believe in demons and angels. And now here they were. Sam was sitting next to a Graceless angel, and his brother... his brother wasn't even human.

It hit Sam square in the chest. He started up the car and eased back into the road.

 _My brother is an angel._

My big brother.

Despite his shock, a small smile curved Sam's lips. What on earth were they getting into?

* * *

 ** _AN: Well, this chapter was fun:)) Been waiting to write this for a while. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I love Gabriel so much, not gonna lie. He's one of my absolute favorites and it was super fun to write him. If you enjoyed this, please REVIEW._**

 ** _That's all, folks!_**


	15. Their Disposition Is Not Agreeable

15\. Their Disposition Is Not Agreeable

"This is stupid, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes and tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Funny thing, his formerly ripped up shirt, covered in blood, was perfectly normal now. He couldn't remember when exactly that happened. Gabriel stood next to him, leaning against a post. The airport smelled like every other airport (floor cleaner and stickers and rubber and warm fast food), and busy people brushed around them. Gabriel was invisible, apparently, since no one seemed to notice him. "Just let me fly you."

"Not gonna happen." He'd seen how Gabriel flipped and jumped and swooped in the time he'd been waiting in line. The angel had gotten bored and went to investigate a bunch of balloons stuck in the ceiling rafters. As much as Dean hated the idea of being stuck in a flying coffin of death, he preferred to have something beneath his feet. Besides, how freaking humiliating would it be to be dragged around by this sucker... "Look, I didn't ask you to stick around."

Gabriel sighed dramatically and snickered when a prim woman gave Dean a look. Right. It looked like Dean was talking to himself. The line moved, and a British voice announced that plane 24c to Chicago was boarding. Chicago was the closest he could get to Bobby's house in South Dakota.

He fingered the passport in his pocket. Apparently, 'Haywood Jablome' was a male stripper who had visited Jamaica at least ten times.

Gabriel presented it to him when he got out of the phone booth without any explanation except, "Guessing you don't know how to make one of these."

Dean had glared but took the passport. If they guy felt like being 'helpful', he wasn't going to stop him. Whatever. As long as he got on this stupid plane.

They entered the connecting tube, and Dean's chest tightened. He chewed his lip. He didn't like planes. At all. They were perfect little missiles. There was no escape route. The only thing separating him and bazillion miles of the sky were a sheet of metal and some glass. The lack of control was astounding.

He shuffled down the aisle and tried to ignore Gabriel's complaints. What was with that guy? One moment, he was freaking out, and the next, he was just peachy. Dean had no idea how to get rid of him.

He sat down in his seat (not a window seat) and carefully forced himself to stare at his hands. If Sam was here, it would be easier. Or if he had something to punch. Punching an archangel was probably a bad idea.

Meanwhile, Gabriel hopped over him and sat down in the window seat. He wrinkled his nose. "This is awful. Like taking a hike in a wheelchair. Why would you _choose_ to do this?"

Dean cursed quietly to himself and wondered if he should reconsider. This was going to be _hours_ of flying.

Then again, he didn't think that flying with Gabriel would be instantaneous like it used to be. Dean probably would be able to actually remember the trip now that he wasn't exactly _human_. According to Cass, flying with an angel only felt instantaneous because the human mind couldn't comprehend how quickly everything happening. So. Flying was _not_ something he wanted to remember.

The plane started up and began rattling down the runway. Dean tightened his grip on the armrests and continued staring at the floor. He could see Gabriel lounged crookedly just in his peripheral vision. The archangel chewed some gum and blew a bubble noisily. "Why so tense, Deano boy?"

"Piss off."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "You know, you don't _have_ to insult me every time you open your mouth. I might actually be offended at some point."

He could not deal with this guy right now. The floor grumbled, and the plane took to the sky, and Dean started counting backward from five hundred.

 _I was just in Heaven. Talking to_ _ **God**_ _._

For several minutes, no one said anything.

Dean was so tense, he thought he might crack his own bones. Today had just been _way_ too much. He breathed through his nose and hoped Gabriel wasn't paying attention to him. Which was a stupid hope.

"Dean?"

Gabriel's tone was different. Softer. It was so unexpected, Dean jerked his head up to look at him.

But that only gave him a wonderful glance at the clouds beyond Gabriel's window. Dean paled, and Gabriel's eyes widened. Gabriel glanced through the window and looked back at Dean, confused when he didn't see anything particularly terrifying. Dean flicked his eyes down to stare at the ground, which was why he didn't see Gabriel's face go through a funny set of emotions. Comprehension, some amusement, and concern being prominent ones (but neither of them would have admitted to that last one).

Gabriel chuckled. "Whaddya know. The fearless Dean Winchester. Afraid of heights." He shook his head. "An _angel._ Afraid of heights. Well, I mean, I appreciate the irony."

"Say anything else, and I will kill you."

"Very ambitious." Gabriel poked him. Dean didn't move. "Dude, what do you think is gonna happen to you?"

Dean looked up with an eye roll. "It's called an irrational fear for a reason."

Gabriel hummed thoughtfully. In a very thoughtful way. In a way that instantly set Dean on edge. He was going to do something, and Dean was _not_ going to like it.

Dean leaned back from him. "What are you-?"

Gabriel winked. And, suddenly, he melted through the wall.

Dean's mouth dropped open, and he stood up, nearly slamming his head on the cupboard above him. People were staring now. What were they seeing?

"What are you doing?" he cried. Outside, Gabriel was keeping up with the plane easily. He crossed his arms and shrugged and showily wiped the non-existent dust off his shoulder. His eyes met Dean's, and he grinned manically.

Crap. Dean scrambled backward, but the angel's arm reached through the plane and caught hold of the front of his jacket. He pulled him forward.

And suddenly Dean wasn't on the plane anymore.

He shouted in shock and terror. The air was so loud he couldn't hear anything but the wind rushing through the ai. The roaring of the engine was enough to have him vibrating from soundwaves. It buffeted and slammed into him like he was a leaf in a hurricane. He felt a lot like a leaf, actually.

Gabriel laughed at his terror, and swooped away from the plane, carrying Dean under his arms.

The fear was mind numbing. Dean twisted and tried to pull against Gabriel, who was much too strong for Dean to resist.

"Look, man, do you _want_ me to drop you?"

" _No_! No, don't do that!" Dean stilled and screwed his eyes shut and muttered the choicest of curse words for this winged jerk.

Gabriel snickered and swooped upwards. "Let go, you said?"

"What?!" Dean's eyes flew open.  
"I think that's a great idea, Dean. You really are a smart one, you know."

Gabriel's grip on his arms loosened, and Dean scrambled for purchase, but there was no way he could stop this. His fingers latched onto the fabric of Gabriel's shirt, but that was hardly enough to keep him up. All at once, Gabriel let go.

Dean screamed, but his shouts were lost in the wind rushing past his ears. His stomach didn't even have time to flip. Gabriel got smaller and smaller until he was just a tiny prick of light. Dean fell through a cloud, and Gabriel disappeared entirely.

And Dean kept falling.

The ocean was getting closer. He flipped on his stomach, but that was just as bad as not knowing how close the ground was. His heart pounded in his throat at a million miles an hour. He could hardly see, but he was going to hit the ocean any second now.

 _Sorry, Sammy._

The world rushed up to meet him, and he slammed into the ocean. It rushed into his lungs and the salt seared into his eyes.

Deep, deep into the cold, blue, dark, deep water.

The world was still.

Quiet.

Dean didn't move. Every bone in his body had to be broken and that was why he couldn't feel any more than a harsh sting on his back where he hit the water.

Dean opened his eyes.

Something gripped the back of his jacket and drug him to the surface at a lightning speed.

He came sputtering and coughing to the surface, and he was _very much alive._ He blinked away the water from his eyes. Sunlight shined down on him and sparkled across the water. Except, that wasn't the sun.

As he stood on the surface of the water, Gabriel crouched down to look at Dean. Waves lapped gently over Gabriel's shoes. He was… standing on the water. His wings shone around him so brightly Dean squinted. "Bro," Gabriel said. "That is some phobia. I mean, how stubborn do you have to be? It's all 'ye of little faith' and whatnot, you know what I mean?" Gabriel's wing-glow (or whatever the heck that was) tapered down a few notches, and suddenly, it wasn't like looking at the sun. It was Just this dirtbag who dropped him from twenty-thousand feet.

Dean would have tackled him if he wasn't swimming. Instead, he settled for spitting out as much profanity as he could think of on the spot. Per usual, Gabriel wasn't phased.

"This is good for you, Dean. It really is, I swear." He patted Dean on the head and then wiped his wet hand on his pants. This just pissed Dean off more.

"What would be really good for me is your _head_ on a _plate_ , you son of a-"

"Uh huh, whatever," Gabriel interrupted. He grabbed Dean by the arms and pulled him up out of the water. He adjusted his grip under Dean's shoulders again, and before Dean could protest, Gabriel beat his wings and took to the air.

But they didn't fly as high. The ocean blurred beneath them as Gabriel's speed increased. Dean tensed and waited for his inevitable demise. He couldn't think clearly. Every coherent thought was torn to shreds by his fear and exhaustion.

He opened his eyes and instantly shut them again. Nope. Nada. Not going to happen. "Wanna do a flip?" Gabriel asked eventually. "Flying in a straight line gets boring."

"Don't." Dean was too tired now for aggression

Gabriel didn't try to do a flip.

What had to be only a few minutes later, the land rose up to meet them. Gabriel skidded over mountains and cities and plains too quickly for Dean to really see them.

Suddenly, Gabriel stopped and circled down to land in a clearing in a dense, green forest.

They hit the ground, and Dean stumbled when Gabriel released him. Catching himself on a tree, he forced himself to take a breath. His knees trembled, and his clothes were still soaking wet. He felt so _pathetic_.

 _But you're still alive._

"See? Flying's not so bad."

Oh, Dean begged to differ. Suddenly filled with fury, Dean swung around and punched Gabriel in the face as hard as he could. His knuckles throbbed instantly, but Dean still grabbed him grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and rammed the archangel back against a tree. The tree shook and pine needles rained down on them.

" _That,_ " Dean spat. "Is for dropping me."

Gabriel scowled and then winced. He opened and closed his mouth experimentally and kneaded his jaw with his hand. "Ow. Okay, fine, fair enough. Not my fault you're a pansy."

Dean slammed him back against the tree again. "Not my fault you're a jerk."

Gabriel gave him a lazy, _whatcha-gonna-do-bout-it_ look, and Dean released him with disgust. He brushed himself off and started walking. Away. Anywhere but here.

"What are you doing?" Gabriel called after him.

Dean sighed and stopped and wanted to continue to be irritated.

But his shoulders slumped, and his anger drained away. He was just tired. So tired of all this crap. And glad he was on solid ground again, thank you very much.

"You don't even know where we are."

Dean turned slowly and crossed his arms. He raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Well?"

Gabriel continued messing with his jaw. "Ya know, you're pretty strong for a little sucker..."

"Where are we, Gabriel?"

This time Gabriel met his eyes. "South Dakota somewhere."

That was better than nothing. Dean nodded. "Then if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to my life. The _not flying with a lunatic_ part. Adios, sucker."

Gabriel shook his head, but he didn't follow Dean when Dean started walking toward the direction he thought he could hear traffic in.

A few seconds later, the guy apparently couldn't let Dean get away with the last word. "You're just going to… walk."

"That's the plan."

Gabriel hesitated. Suddenly, he was standing beside Dean. He tucked his hands into his pockets, strangely subdued. "I was trying to help you, Winchester."

Dean snorted angrily. He glared at his companion. "Well, don't okay? You don't understand, and I can't expect you to. So drop it, and if you ever try to do something like that to me again, I will personally destroy every last piece of you."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed as he considered Dean's threat. He chewed his lip thoughtfully and then he nodded. "Okay."

Dean blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected such an agreement.

He nodded slowly as well. "Okay."

"So… are we good?"

Dean grunted. "No. But I doubt you're just gonna flit off somewhere no matter what I say." He got a smirk out of this response. Gabriel shrugged, and they began walking again.

"Alrighty then," Gabriel tried carefully. "Where exactly does this 'Bobby Singer" live?"

* * *

Some days, there was a thick blanket that pushed Castiel into the earth. The road ought to crack beneath his feet, he thought. The blanket weighed on his shoulders and muffled his ears and slowed his responses. He couldn't think, he couldn't move, he couldn't _breathe_ around the suffocating weight of… he didn't even know what it was, but it hurt in his chest. It ached, and he didn't want Sam to give a name to the emotion and the wandering, painful thoughts that traipsed through his brain when he felt like this because that just might make them worse. Some days were better than others. It was random, and it hadn't happened in a while now, but that feeling of suffocation always came sneaking back. Nothing he did seemed to really help once it set in. But fighting monsters and talking to Dean were both good medicine.

Today was a bad day, and he had neither. No monsters. No Dean. Just driving and Sam.

Now, don't get him wrong. Sam was great. He was caring and sensitive (for a Winchester) and kind and more of a brother than Castiel's siblings had ever been. But he wasn't _Dean_ , and Sam knew this, which only added guilt to the mix of heaviness in Cass's lungs.

Castiel closed his eyes. The Impala smelled like leather, Sam's french fries from last night, and pine from the stakes they'd sharpened recently and then stuffed in the trunk for later use. He forced himself to breath all these scents in deeply. Sometimes if he could ground himself in the little things, in the little quirks about earth, the heaviness would lessen for a bit.

Little things were good. Inconsistencies. Mistakes. Cracks. He liked these bits, and he wasn't sure why, but maybe, it was because he was less lonely surrounded by all these crooked pieces.

Castiel peeled open his eyes and stared at the ceiling and focused on the scratch Sam made when he got in with his machete strapped to his back. It had gotten caught, and Dean snipped about the mark for days. A small smile tried to lift Cass's lips. He was alone in the passenger's seat while Sam got some food out of the tiny gas station they'd come across. They were maybe an hour out from Bobby's. Cass didn't know exactly. They'd been driving for ten hours straight, but when Castiel offered to drive and let Sam rest, Sam had given him a funny look. "You don't know how to drive."

Which was true.

But how hard could it be?

Sam hadn't let him drive, saying that when they found Dean, Dean would want to teach him. Castiel didn't mind that idea in the least.

Anyway, it was probably a good thing because Castiel didn't think he would have been able to concentrate like this. Whatever 'this' was. Did all humans feel this way? Castiel might have asked Dean if Dean was around.

 _Dean is never coming back._

Castiel shoved the thought away. That was stupid. Of course, he was coming back. He was on a plane coming home right now.

 _He doesn't need to, though. He has his own_ wings _. Somehow. How long do you think it will take before he learns to use them? And when he does? Do you think he'll come back for you? Sam, sure. But you?_

"Stop it," Castiel said aloud. He glared at his reflection in the rearview mirror. "You are an irrational creature. Dean would not do that."

 _Do you know for sure?_

He looked away and tried not to think about the fact that he was holding a conversation with himself. _Obviously, you're just insane. It was only a matter time._

Castiel groaned in frustration and kneaded between his eyes. He really just got irritated at himself sometimes.

Fortunately, a sound took his attention away from that stupid voice between his ears. On Sam's seat, his phone vibrated. It buzzed and shook itself to the edge of the seat, and Castiel reached to grab it before it fell, but missed. It slipped off the seat and dropped underneath.

 _How fittingly graceless of you._

"Leave me alone," he grunted, twisted awkwardly to grab the device. Finally, he managed to pick it up, and, before he could talk himself out of it, Cass flipped open the phone. "This is... not Sam," he said.

A chuckle on the other end. "Welp. Okay then, Not Sam. Tell Sammy his brother is a stubborn pain in the arse."

Castiel blinked. "I am sure he already knows. Who is this?"

Another laugh. "Gabriel, at your service. And who's the sucker stuck with a Winchester?"

"Cass," he answered reflexively. "What are you calling Sam for?"

Gabriel ignored his last question. "Wait- who?"

Cass. He'd said, Cass. After hearing himself called it nearly constantly, the nickname came naturally. He shifted uncomfortably. "Castiel? Gabri-"

" _Whhaaat?_ " Gabriel interrupted in a high pitched voice. "Who took the stick out of _your_ butt? Actually, don't tell me. I do not wanna know. You do _not_ sound like you."

This did not surprise Cass. Several weeks of hunting as a human had a way of roughing people up on the edges. He wasn't sure if he liked that or not, but either way, it was the reality.

"Anyway, so we're on the side of the road, and Dean is trying to find a map at a gas station because he _refuses_ to let me fly him. Honestly, you'd think I wasn't licensed or something."

Castiel frowned. "You do not need a-"

"Jus' kiddin' little bro. The thing is, it would be really great if you and Sammy boy could drive down here because I am _not_ spending three days walking to that Singer dude's house just because Deano won't listen to me."

Now, here was a funny thing. Castiel didn't understand. His eyes narrowed. "Why are you with him, Gabriel?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe I _care_. Sheesh. He's an angel. He could destroy this entire continent if he chose."

Castiel mulled over these words with a twinge of bitterness. "You never cared before. Ever, actually. If I remember correctly."

A long silence. So long, Cass thought maybe he'd hung up.

"You're wrong," Gabriel growled in a sharp whisper.

Castiel didn't have a response. He wasn't about to argue with the guy, but he would not pretend.

The thing about angels, Castiel was learning, was that their idea of 'family' was not the same as the human idea. The angels were not family. They were not siblings. Not really. Not like Sam and Dean were brothers. Sure, there were some who were close to each other. Angels like Hannah and Balthazar and Benjamin. Castiel cared for them, he did.

It just wasn't the same.

"Look, kiddo," Gabriel continued with a sigh. He sounded tired. Any anger was falling away quickly. "He's a pissed off walking bomb without an instruction manual. I'm just making sure he ends up where he should be."

Castiel nodded, but his words were less agreeable. "I still am not understanding why this has grabbed your attention. Last I heard, you were more than willing to kill Dean. Repeatedly. So excuse my cynicism at your sudden change of heart."

A frustrated groan. "I don't need to explain my decisions to you. It's enough to say that if you used that brain of yours, novel idea, you might wonder _how the heck_ Dean ended up as an angel and draw conclusions from there and _maybe_ you'd see why I'm not sitting this out." Gabriel huffed indignantly and muttered under his breath about Castiel's idiocy.

Castiel chewed his lip. Despite Gabriel's allegations, he had considered this. And he knew what it meant. Father was not dead.

And as much as that made him want to shout and laugh and dance and point _I told you so_ , at his siblings, the stupid weight on his shoulders kept him still. He just couldn't find the energy to care. He wanted to _sleep_. If God wanted to show up, okay, great. If not, the world was ending anyway and maybe that ought to happen. Maybe it would be easier to just forget about all this. Maybe then the quiet wouldn't hurt so bad.

In a few hours, he'd feel differently. Castiel knew eventually the weight would lift and he'd wonder how he could be so apathetic. But right now it took an effort to talk, much less celebrate.

 _Something is wrong with me._

Gabriel cleared his throat. "Just tell Sam to come to this co-ordinance. We'll be nearby." He listed out some numbers, and Castiel wrote them numbly in the palm of his hand with a pen.

"Righty then. Later, Gator."

The phone clicked.

Slowly, Castiel dropped the phone to his lap. He stared down at the numbers written in blue ballpoint.

He traced over the numbers again a little harder. And again. Grounding. He needed anchors. He pressed the pen into his palm and winced but it focused those fumbling thoughts. The cloud around his head faded back for an instant.

Castiel only distantly heard the car door open and close. The rustle of clothes and shopping bags and Sam's shoes on the gravel before he got inside.

"Cass? Cass, buddy, you okay?" Sam took his shoulder and shook gently. Castiel dropped the pen suddenly. He closed his fist and nodded. His heartbeat pulsed in the place he'd been pressing.

"I am fine."

Raising an eyebrow, Sam took a packaged salad out of one of the bags. "You want something to eat?"

"Maybe later." Castiel shook himself inwardly. _Focus._ "Gabriel called. He and Dean are on the side the road. Apparently, Dean is attempting to walk to Bobby's."

Sam snorted and ripped open the salad. "How did they get here so fast?"

Castiel shrugged and reached for packaged subsistence to appease the younger Winchester. "I imagine Gabriel became bored of flying by plane."

As they drove out, Castiel looked up at that scratch on the ceiling again and thought that Dean would want it fixed sometime. Until then, he'd focus on it. Sam gave him a careful look. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes."

No.

But none of them were and maybe that was alright. Broken and chipped and bleeding and falling apart at the seams.

He could anchor himself in the Winchesters.

Castiel fingered the pen and considered putting it down. That… that pain had been a fluke. He didn't need it to focus.

 _The Winchesters might not always be here, though, will they?_

His stomach wrenched uncomfortably.

Slowly, he placed the pen in his jacket pocket.

 _I won't need it._

* * *

 ** _AN: Please review! My poor boys :((_**


	16. Coming Home

16\. Coming Home

The Impala came rushing around the bend, and Gabriel whooped. Walking _sucked_. And Dean was more stubborn than he'd ever thought possible.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the two angels, and Dean kept his arms crossed. "You called Sam."

"I called Castiel, actually. You are _welcome_."

Dean rolled his eyes, but brightened when Sam got out of the car. His brother ran quickly forward and took Dean by the shoulders. His eyes zipped up and down Dean before he swiftly embraced him and then slapped him on the back. "Dean, you scared the crap out of us."

Dean didn't smile but it was a close thing. "I'm alright."

"Ha," Sam laughed a bit nervously. "That's an understatement."

There was an awkward pause which Gabriel felt the need to break immediately. He clapped his hands suddenly. "Well, folks, it has been fun, but I'm gonna pass the dynamite stick baton and kick this pop stand."

Both Winchesters handed him long-suffering glares which he returned with a grin. That's when he noticed the flickering, little soul getting out of the car. Who else did they bring and where was…?

Gabriel blinked.

The little soul unfolded from the passenger's seat and nodded in acknowledgement of Gabriel. And that, that little soul was none other than Castiel. Cass, as he'd called himself.

"Holy…" Gabriel shook his head and tried to see him clearer. Nope. Still just a soul. "That is _quite_ a makeover you've got. What happened to _you,_ Castiel?"

Castiel's face was an emotionless mask as he walked up to them with his hands stuffed in his pockets, but his quiet soul churned and sighed tiredly within him. "A lot." The guy was exhausted. Gabriel didn't blame him. Castiel smiled at Dean and something painful flashed through his eyes. "Hello, Dean,"

This time Dean did smile. "Hey, buddy. You alright?"

Cass inclined his head. "I am as well as I ought to be. Better, now that you have returned."

Dean chuckled and fisted him on the back and stepped back again. Gabriel could see Dean's Grace filled soul twisting.

Gabriel didn't have a clue what the heck that interaction was supposed to mean, and he was too busy being shocked to consider it. Castiel was human and Dean was an angel. How messed up could it get?

For a moment, they talked, and then Dean sighed dramatically. "Let's go home."

Sam nodded, and they walked to the car.

Castiel hesitated.

Gabriel watched him. Waited. Castiel shuffled his shoes on the asphalt.

Finally, he spoke.

"Is… is He really back?" Castiel said quietly. His eyes couldn't seem to stay still. He focused on Gabriel and then down at his shoes and then just over Gabriel's shoulder. Nervous. Tired. Delicate. Human.

Slowly, Gabriel nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest. "The way I hear it, Dad never left."

A raised eyebrow at this and then eyes that narrowed in suspicion. "I don't understand."

"You think _I_ do?" Gabriel snorted. "I'm pissed."

"You don't seem… pissed."

Another shrug. "Yeah, well I'm also a lot of other things, and they make it difficult to be just pissed."

Castiel didn't understand, and it was obvious. His head tilted. Oh, the Winchesters would have fun teaching this one to lie.

Shifting his weight, Gabriel cleared his throat. "So, uh, you and Sam are more than capable of keeping our little phobia-boy from getting into the wrong hands. Somehow. Maybe he'll learn all this crap better from you." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Cause… there is no way he's ever going to listen to me."

A quirk of a smile lifted Cass's lips. "We will take care of him."

"I know. You're right. You will." Gabriel cocked his head and then nodded approvingly. Human (however that happened) or not, Castiel was a feisty little guy. Dean was in good hands, and Gabriel was mostly free not to worry. He smirked. "Good luck."

With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel disappeared.

* * *

Bobby gave him a heck of a lecture the moment Dean walked through the door. A loud, barking, extensive, pretty much pointless lecture. But if it made Bobby feel better, Dean would take it. As it turned out, what had felt like hours in Heaven had been around two weeks on earth. They had every right to have been terrified.

No one had talked about 'it' on the way home. He'd cranked up the radio and had hardly spoken a word. This was not fair to them, and Dean knew it. But, via the typical Winchester mode of action, he'd fallen into the familiar habit of ignoring emotions he didn't like.

So that was how he found himself sitting on the front porch railing at Bobby's. Alone and too nervous to go inside and face the questions waiting for him. The fact that Cass had to rework several sigils drawn around the house so that Dean could even step onto the porch was not helping the situation. The sigils had not worked on him before, apparently, but it was fairly obvious when he'd been forced to stop at the first step that they did now. Perhaps being in Heaven had changed something... He swirled his bottle of beer around, and the amber light fractured onto his jeans. Could he even get drunk now? Probably not.

The screen door opened and closed, and Dean continued to stare into the evening. His knee jittered up and down, and he took a swig of the liquid. It did not calm him.

"Cass," he said quietly.

Castiel leaned his elbows on the railing and looked up at him. "I finished. You are safe to go anywhere in the house."

Dean grunted and drunk again and finally glanced at his companion.

"What happened, Dean?"Cass said. "Where were you?"

Those questions were easier for the both of them. "Heaven," Dean muttered simply. "I told you."

Okay, so he probably owed him more than that. He'd already said all of this to Sam earlier. Sighing, he forced himself to stop pacing and offered Cass a smile that didn't look much like smile at all. "I landed in a broom closet and this chick took me out and made me go to this weird chapel thing and there were people with wings everywhere on the beds. I got away and this guy talked with me in a garage and…" Dean cleared his throat. "I ended up somehow in London with our favorite winged dirtbag hobbit."

Castiel blinked a few times. "Winged dirtbag… hobbit."

Funny how _that_ was what he chose to comment on out of that entire weird story.

"Gabriel."

"Oh." Castiel nodded and then frowned. "A habit?"

Dean chuckled. "Never mind, man."

For a long moment, the two of them were silent, content to look out on the dusky scrapyard and listen to the breeze whistling between both car parts and trees. There was an aching loneliness in the air that could have come from either of them or perhaps it was from the tired moans of the very old house and the very old cars which were all piled together around in semi-permanent fixtures. It was quiet and anxious and just a bit sad.

Something flickered inside Cass, and Dean noted it at the edge of his vision. His stomach flipped fearfully, and he dropped his gaze to the dirt. This hadn't happened since the episode in the holy fire.

"It's okay," Castiel murmured.

"What?"

Cass smiled a bit sadly. "I don't care if you see it."

"See what?"

"My soul."

Dean shivered inwardly. The feeling arched from the crown of his head, down his spine, and into his heels. He sniffed and shrugged and continued to stare out at the scrap yard. "Is that what all the glowy-crap is?"

Cass hummed an affirmative with a nod. "Are you frightened?"

"No."

"Dean..."

"Yes."

Castiel considered this. After a moment, he hopped up next to Dean so that his back was toward the yard, and his feet dangled on the opposite side of the railing that Dean's did. Dean's gaze remained in his lap, but he couldn't really ignore the soft, sad, quiet glow beating between every seam that made up his best friend.

"Do it, Dean. Look."

Why? What did it matter anyway? Dean took another drink and chewed on his indecision. This time, he let his eyes slide toward Castiel. The glow brightened, satisfied by his attention, apparently. Amused, Dean raised an eyebrow. "It's like a lantern, Cass. I can hardly see your face."

Cass cocked his head. "I suppose I never thought of it that way. To me, seeing just your face is like being half blind."

This _shouldn't_ make sense… but it did. There were very delicate twists and shifts of color in the light that were very telling of each and every intention. And as he looked, there was a knot, deep inside Castiel which was darker than the rest. A closer look sent a shot of pain through Dean that was so intense he jerked back and had to catch himself to keep from falling.

Instantly, Castiel's hand was on his shoulder. "Dean? Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean screwed his eyes shut and pinched between his eyes again. "I-I shouldn't do that. It's not- it's _you_." He didn't have any right to see that wound, or whatever it was, that Castiel had buried so deep inside.

Quiet. For a long time, Castiel said nothing at all. Carefully, he took back his hand. Without looking at him, Dean could still see Cass curling in on himself, stealing up. _Does he know I'm broken?_

Dean's gaze shot up instantly, and he jabbed Castiel in the chest with a finger, which only made Cass flinch. "No. Don't say that. Don't ever _think_ that, you son of a-"

"I didn't _say_ anything!" Castiel interrupted, affronted.

Oh, wonderful, and now Dean was in his head. Frustration ripped through him. He jumped off the railing and paced in front of Castiel while running anxious hands through his hair. Screw the apocalypse, screw Yeshua's 'plan'.

"Fine," he finally said. "How are we going to do this?" He crossed his arms and forced himself to stand still.

Castiel only looked confused. "Do… what?"

Really? He'd have to spell it out. Dean would have thought it was self-explanatory. He raised an eyebrow. "You're an angel without any batteries, and I've got a bunch of your mojo. So? Tell me how to do it."

"Do _what_?"

"How do I give it to you! And don't say it's impossible because it's not. If it can be taken away, it has to be possible to give." This made the most sense. He'd just give his Grace to Cass and Cass would be whole again and Dean could go back to the screwed up life that he enjoyed very much.

But Castiel's reaction was not at all like Dean expected. He blanched, and his eyes widened in horror. "I would _never_ ask that of you."

What? Why not? "You're not asking, I'm _telling_ you!" Dean countered.

Castiel shook his head. "No. No, Dean, it would be an agony-"

Oh, well, if that was the issue "I'm okay with that."

Castiel growled in frustration. "Well, you _shouldn't_ be. _I am not._ And it wouldn't work! Giving me your Grace would be like giving your soul to someone without a soul. They would not be themselves. Your Grace would kill me." He struggled for a way to explain this with more clarity. "Like a bad blood transfusion," he settled on.

Oh.

Wonderful.

Dean stayed very still.

For a moment, he'd let himself hope. He could fix this. Could he?

No. No, there had to be a way.

He cursed quietly to himself, and anger churned within Dean. It wasn't _fair_. None of this was fair at all. He gestured vaguely. "There- there's gotta be a loophole. Some kinda thing you can do to make it work." Dean didn't want Grace and had plenty while Castiel had none, and wouldn't say so, but was desperate for it. Dean had Grace so that he could give it to Castiel. That was the answer to this situation. Right?

"Only the Father can grant Grace accurately."

And Yeshua had made his position pretty friggin clear. Dean glowered and stepped forward to grip the railing tightly. He leaned his weight into his arm and clenched his jaw. Maybe if he'd kept talking to Him… Maybe if he'd just said the right thing, he could have convinced Jesus to give Cass back his wings.

"You are safe from Michael as an angel, Dean," Castiel spoke up.

"Screw Michael."

Castiel chuckled. There was a weariness in his voice, but it was backed up by something else now. A satisfaction. A confidence

Where did that come from? Before thinking about it, Dean glanced at Cass for confirmation of that satisfaction. The light bled through Castiel's veins and pulsed within his chest. That little knot deep inside him had eased somewhat. Why? Was it something Dean said? Why was he better now?

As Dean considered his friend, he suddenly realized Castiel was smiling a little. Dean blinked. "What is it?"

A shrug. "I find your concern pleasant."

Dean grunted, and slowly a smile slipped onto his own face. "Yeah, whatever, rain man."

He forced himself to relax the tension in his shoulders. He couldn't take his frustration out on Cass. It was hardly _his_ fault it wouldn't work. He took a deep breath and another and watched a mouse across the yard scurry underneath a discarded steering wheel. He squinted and then dropped his head with a sigh. When evening fell, Dean imagined a chill would settle in the air. Crickets would chirp from the forest, and if he couldn't figure out just what to do now, he'd probably still be out here avoiding, well, everything.

After a moment, Cass nudged him. He spoke tentatively and softly like one speaks to a nervous child. "You know, you could always do the other thing."

"What other thing?" he grumbled. Dean's voice was muffled by his jacket, chin to his chest.

"Adjust."

Dean snorted. Right. Right, okay. He'd just take this and roll with it. He'd not think about the fact that angels didn't _die_ or that they didn't have human emotions or that they ended up as manipulative jerks.

He just wanted to drive his car with his little brother and best friend and kill evil SOBs. Dean Winchester had always assumed he'd die on some hunt. He didn't know when or how, but it would happen, and Sam would be okay and go live his pansy, normal, human life with a wife and 2.5 kids and a picket fence and he would be _happy_ for once. It would be good. Dean would end up in Heaven (maybe) with Mom and Dad, and he'd be glad because Sam would keep living, and Dean would never have to see him die. Sam would be alright. Sam would never get the life he wanted until Dean was gone. Dean knew this. It was a very prevalent truth that he had to remind himself of sometimes.

And now, his chances of dying anytime soon (although not an impossibility) were seriously diminished.

Then again, the apocalypse was on the horizon, so perhaps he didn't need to think about any of this anyway.

"Forget it all, Cass," he growled. "I… I have no idea what I'm doing."

Silence.

"Neither do I."

Dean responded with a sad sound that might have been a laugh.

"I could…" Cass cleared his throat and then continued more confidently. "I could teach you. What I know, I mean."

This time, Dean lifted his head up, surprised. He squinted suspiciously, but Castiel kept speaking before he could protest, apparently knowing that Dean would interrupt.

"You and Sam and Bobby have done admirable jobs of teaching me how to be human, but it is obvious I am not very good- no, Dean, let me finish- The point is, of all the people in the universe to teach you how to be an angel, I am probably your best option at the moment."

This was a logical suggestion.

Dean wasn't a logical person.

There were probably things he could do now which were extremely dangerous that he had no idea how to control (crap, why did he think about that? He didn't want to think about that), and it was true that having a former angel teach him just exactly how to live this new way was a pretty nice situation. However, Dean hesitated. He didn't want to make Cass do something which would hurt him.

"I… No, Cass,"

"I want to."

And Cass did. He honestly, seriously, entirely did. It made sense now, why Castiel had always known when Dean was lying. When anyone was lying. It was impossible to _not_ see deceit when you could see people's souls.

Carefully, Dean straightened. He cleared his throat. He didn't like it. At all. He cleared his throat. "Let's just… one step at a time, okay?"

Castiel nodded, his soul did a bittersweet little jump. He didn't seem to have expected any more of an agreement than Dean had given. "Okay." He smirked and his eyes glimmered with some sort of mischief. He hopped down and walked to the front door, casting an expectant look back at Dean when Dean hesitated. "Step one, Dean," he said in a slightly berating tone,"Stop haunting the front porch."

Dean snorted and crossed his arms and almost argued on principle, but Castiel didn't wait for him. He abandoned Dean on the porch, leaving Dean no choice but to follow. With an eye roll, Dean caught the closing screen door and stepped over the threshold. Time to face the music.

* * *

AN: Please leave a review, thank you. My poor boys. IDK what to even do with them :'(.

Probably make their lives worse because I love them so. *How to writer by my angst-driven mind*

This is the chapter I've been wanting to write since the beginning, btw. This was my original idea when I started writing.

Anyway, as I was writing this, that last scene felt kinda Destiel, and I just wanted to assure you (or crush your dreams) that this is not going to end up at Destiel. That's kinda... cliche? Anyway, I'm not really a romance writer whatsoever and I really like their friendship. So yeah. It's funny, this is the only story that I actually get nervous about posting chapters. I guess because I know people have different opinions about this stuff as opposed to fluff. I suppose that's what happens when you're talking about depression and religion and foster care and the like...


	17. The Phoenix

17\. The Phoenix

You would think that becoming a different species would be terrifying. Baffling. Strange. And it was all these things but mostly, it was awkward. Both Dean and Castiel looked the same (mostly) but everyone, including themselves, knew they were not.

No one really knew how to act now.

Cass was aware that he was an awkward person by nature. Even among angels, he would receive strange looks on occasion. He just was not very good at figuring people out. He knew how the face looked when expressing different emotions, but without the help of a soul behind it, he found it very difficult to tell discern the tiny expressions other people seemed to pick up on naturally. It was… frustrating.

The events of the last month or so had only tuned his ability to recognize different awkward situations. But not exactly how to circumvent one. With a sense of confusion, he'd often watched how Sam and Dean and Bobby moved and spoke and laughed. It came naturally to them. This dance of following and speaking and chuckling and how far away to stand and when it was alright to touch someone else and when to keep your hands to yourself. There was a set of rules he couldn't quite get ahold of.

"Don't think about it, Cass" Dean said once when Castiel asked how exactly he did it. "You look human when you aren't trying to fit it all in your head like a recipe."

"I do?"

"Yeah, man. Just don't worry about it."

As it turned out, _not_ thinking about something was more difficult than it originally sounds. Eventually, he gave up and decided if he was going to seem strange to the other humans, then they would have to just accept it. And oddly enough, he hadn't really noticed a problem after that.

Castiel fiddled with the pen in the pocket of his jean jacket and pressed his finger against the tip. The tightness in his chest eased a bit. Maybe if he had something sharper...

Quickly, Castiel shook his head and took his hand out of his pocket. He shouldn't think like that. It was wrong. Bobby would kill him. Actually, they all would.

Dean would probably honestly murder him, Castiel thought.

And strangely, enough, these thoughts actually made him feel a bit lighter.

Was it not enough that he had to navigate human emotions? Had he to have abnormal ones?

Chewing his lip instead of playing with the pen, Castiel pushed open the door to the bedroom he'd been staying in when they spent time at Bobby's. He needed to pack fresh clothes.

It had been a pretty unanimous decision shortly after Dean had given his account to Sam and Bobby that staying here doing nothing was going to drive them all mad. It was strangely quiet in the house, and they were all walking on eggshells, and Castiel very much disliked it. He'd much rather his friends scream at each other. As weird as that sounded. Then, at least it would be over and done with.

It would happen eventually. Just not yet. Right now, Sam was still getting over his shock, and Dean was having a hard enough time just going in the house and explaining where he'd been.

Dean had been purposefully vague about who confirmed he was an angel. Why wasn't he just saying that he'd met God?

Perhaps he was told not to.

But when did Dean ever listen to anyone?

Sighing, Castiel unzipped his backpack (a dark brown bag with so many pockets he lost count trying to number them all) and pulled open his closet. Inside, some shirts hung along with a blue suit and the suit he'd been wearing originally. They would leave in a bit to continue the hunt Cass and Sam had abandoned when they heard from Dean.

In the corner of the closet, covered by the rest of the clothes but not entirely hidden, peaked Castiel's tan overcoat.

There was always a twist of emotions that came with looking at that particular article of clothing. Which was silly. It was merely fabric, after all.

But, as well, it was more than that.

He'd yet to put on his overcoat since he'd begun living as a human. For various reasons. One being that hunting in such a long coat was difficult without the reflexes he used to have. Monsters could grab him easily from behind and the clothing ripped and he did not want to see it damaged now that he could not fix it with his Grace.

The other reason was more difficult to think about. Technically, the coat wasn't even Castiel's. He'd claimed it as his own. But it was Jimmy's. For some reason, this hadn't bothered him before. It did now. Cass didn't like the idea of walking around in a dead man's coat (and yes, Jimmy was surely dead. The destruction of his Grace would have sent Jimmy's soul to Heaven immediately like a parachute out of a falling jet). It was a stupid idea because Jimmy probably didn't care one way or the other, but it stuck in Castiel's head and thrummed in the back of his mind sometimes.

That coat was something he'd worn when he was not a very good person.

He saw that too, now. He had not been good. He was selfish. Close minded. Life had funny shades of gray and murky browns and dirty yellows that he'd ignored before. He may have been an angel, but what side had he really been on? Heaven's? Michaels? Gods? His own? Had he even _had_ a side? And if not, was that any better?

It was strange how being blinded could also open your eyes. The apostle Paul said that repeatedly in conversations Castiel had had with him, but he hadn't understood what he meant until now.

"Cass!" Dean shouted up the stairs, "Hurry up! We're not getting any younger!"

Ah, well, what was done was done. "Give me a second!" Quickly shoving some fresh clothes into the backpack, he swung the backpack over his shoulder and pushed open the door into the hallway.

Dean, having ascended the stairs, was leaning against the wall opposite Castiel's room with his arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow. "You ready, cowboy?"

"What?"

"Sam's already in the car. Bobby it pitching a fit because he doesn't think we should go." Dean rolled his eyes. "Which is stupid. I mean, it's not like we weren't targets of Heaven before this."

It occurred to Castiel that Dean was talking merely to fill silence. His attitude switch was startling, but it shouldn't have been. He'd been talking to Sam. And Dean always did this around his little brother. He'd pretend he was better than he was. Was that healthy? Probably not. Either way, Castiel didn't mind Dean's babbling because Castiel did not like the type of silence that hung in the air in between Dean's breaths any more than Dean did. They clomped down the stairs. "Did I tell you Gabriel pulled me out of the plane while it was flying?" Dean continued conversationally.

Castiel snorted and shifted the weight of his backpack. "I cannot say I am surprised. He is prone to fits of immaturity."

"Or, you know, eons," Dean grunted. He shouldered open the screen door and called back. "We're leaving, Bobby. Don't die while we're gone!"

Bobby shouted a chain of profanity in response, which only made Dean chuckle. "See ya, old man!"

"Don't you think I won't shoot yer snotty arse, Dean!"

The door jangled shut behind them, and, a few minutes later, they were driving down the highway with AC/DC cushioning the silence.

The Impala had a comforting rhythm to the way she drove. Smooth and quiet (unless Dean was being obnoxious). Castiel had been nearly claustrophobic during the first few times they'd taken long drives, and Dean had even kicked him out of the car once. They'd all walked in circles around a truck stop because Cass had been anxiously shifting and twisting nonstop.

He didn't mind the long drives as much now. He had a good book or two tucked beneath Sam's seat along with a notebook and a pillow and a blanket. He could stretch out pretty far in the backseat unless someone's junk was piled in the back with the forest blurred by, Castiel yawned and groped for his book. He was halfway through

As the forest blurred by, Castiel yawned and groped for his book. He was halfway through _A Christmas Carol_ , two-thirds done with _Alice in Wonderland_ , and he'd just started some book that had nothing to do with food, which didn't make sense since it was called _Hunger Games_. They were all pleasant, and his desire for these funny human stories had only grown as he read more books. He was fascinated by the way the real world faded away and the characters took on lives of their own. He could _see_ them, and, the better the story, the thinner the veil of paper between his life and theirs became. Perhaps some day he'd slip right through... If he did not have Sam and Dean, Castiel wondered if he'd have the gumption to hunt. Without them, he was not much good at it. Perhaps he would have opened a library… A supernatural library filled with ancient texts for hunters to use… Yes, that was a nice idea.

But he had the Winchesters, and he enjoyed his life with them, as screwed up as it was.

Sighing contentedly, he pulled his blanket up around him (this car had no heater since 'heaters were for pansies', and it was freezing), and opened his copy of _A Christmas Carol_. The portrayal of angels in this story amused him. The author was rather long winded, but long winded books were perfect for long drives.

In the front, Sam cleared his throat, and Castiel's ears perked up.

"So, um… Dean."

Dean grunted a wordless response and then raised an eyebrow at Sam to get him to continue.

"This sounds," Sam wrinkled his nose. "Weird. But, like..."

"Look, man, my life cannot get any weirder at this point. Just talk."

"Can you, uh…" He chuckled. "fly?"

The car jerked slightly, probably from Dean's overly tight grip on the wheel. Castiel smirked. Of all the things to ask… He had slumped enough that his book covered his face. The large blanket was wrapped around him like a flannel nest.

Dean snorted. "Nope," He popped the 'P'.

"But you have wings like the other angels."

"Still no," Dean answered. His voice wasn't quite strained, but even Cass could sense the underlying ill ease. Dean was almost taking this species switch worse than Castiel had… Then again, Dean was stubborn and fiery. Castiel didn't think he met either of those attributes. He'd been sucked dry while Dean was filled with power and energy he didn't know what to do with. If he reacted with volatility, it was only to be expected.

"He just doesn't know how to manifest his wings," Castiel said dryly from behind his book.

"No one asked you," Dean spat back grumpily.

Rolling his eyes, Cass kept his eyes on his book and mockingly mouthed Dean's words. He continued reading, but his attention was now on his friends in the front seat. If Sam had worked up the courage to actually ask Dean questions, and Castiel wasn't going to stop him. Sam knew Dean well enough that he probably would not press too hard. Maybe? They were like a boiling pot, just steaming beneath the surface and ready to explode. Castiel would rather not be stuck in the car if Sam pressed too many buttons and pissed Dean off. So he listened.

The car was silent for several minutes but for the low murmuring of the radio, the scratch of Castiel turning pages, and the hum of the engine. Cass found himself watching Sam repeatedly almost speak and then swallow his words to reconsider them. Finally, Dean sighed dramatically.

" _What_ , Sam?"

"Nothing."

"Dude, you're giving me friggin' whiplash. Spit it out or don't."

A pause.

And then, "I, um, I never apologized for putting you inside the holy fire."

Oh, yeah. Castiel almost forgot about that.

With a snort, Dean chewed his lip. "You ain't gotta apologize. I remember tying you up in Bobby's basement when you were high on demon blood, Sam. This ain't any different. I get it. I was doing weird crap. You did good." Dean was kneading the steering wheel, eyes on the road.

Castiel frowned but did not comment. He did not need to. Sam picked up on his train of thought.

"Being high on demon blood is different than being an angel, Dean."

A grunt. "Yeah, whatever. Weird angel crap. Weird demon crap. Tomato, Tah-mah-toe."

Not true.

Dean furrowed his brow and cast Cass back a glare, but he said nothing. Was he reading his mind? Probably. It didn't really bother Cass, Cass realized. Privacy was a mute point when these were the men who taught you how to take a shower and shave and properly use a toilet.

"What did the holy fire feel like?" Sam asked curiously. His initial awkwardness had faded a bit.

"Like fire," Dean answered dryly. When Sam leveled a look in his direction, he rolled his eyes. "Really, really hot fire. There was this pressure… a wall of heat pushing me back." He squinted thoughtfully as he tried to recall. "I remember I couldn't breathe very well. But, I was kind of out of it… What actually happened in that vamp nest before you put me in there?"

He didn't remember?

"You were stabbed in the back by a wooden stake," Castiel said bluntly when Sam hesitated.

Dean's gaze wiped back. " _What_?"

"A vampire came up behind you and stabbed you," Sam repeated Castiel's words reluctantly. "You, er, you pulled out the stake and were acting really weird, like _really_ weird. Sort of dazed. You collapsed and everything in the room went crazy. Radios buzzing, thunder and lightning, earthquakes, the whole shebang. We thought angels were coming for some reason but… obviously, we were wrong."

Dean was pale. He clenched his jaw and then nodded slowly. He whispered short profanity to himself.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"You okay?"

"Fine. Keep, uh, keep talking."

Sam didn't seem quite convinced, but he continued his tale. "When stuff settled down, I went to look at your wound, but there _wasn't_ one."

"Right…"

"After that, we thought you must be possessed or something so we took you back to Bobby's to figure out what to do."

"Logical." Dean cleared his throat.

Carefully, Cass closed his book and sat up a little straighter. Dean would have to face this at some point, and the sooner the better. On the other hand, overwhelming an individual who could destroy them with a touch and had no idea how to control power like that was not a good idea. Also, going to Heaven might have aggravated his Grace... It could be much more reactive than before.

Dean was gnawing the inside of his cheek. "You're saying- you're saying _I_ was making all the thunder and stuff."

"That is the most obvious conclusion," Castiel said cautiously. "It happened again when we let you out of the holy fire circle."

Another nod. A very slow, deliberate nod. A sad laugh. "I'd thought some kind of monster had gotten in."

And that was as far as Cass was going to let him go down that line of thinking. Time to change the subject. He gave a non-committal hum and picked up his book. "What sort of name is Ebenezer Scrooge," he muttered. "Do British people all have such strange names?"

Sam laughed, and Dean's shoulders relaxed. Good.

"What exactly are you basing 'British people' on?"

"Oliver Twist, Sherlock Holmes, Bilbo Baggins…" Castiel listed vaguely.

This prompted more chuckles. Dean shook his head. "Cass, Bilbo isn't even British."

"The man who wrote it was," Sam countered.

They continued in this manner for a long while, and the tension dissipated for the moment. Hours slipped by, and they drove on through the night. Sam and Cass had stopped for dinner, and Dean had insisted on eating as well, even though they all knew he didn't need it. Sam and Cass both held their tongues

But Dean's expressions became increasingly humorous.

Finally, Cass chuckled. They were parked on the side of the road. The car smelled like the fast food hamburgers they'd ordered (and Sam's caesar salad).

"Dean, you don't have to eat it if you don't want to," Cass said. Dean glared at him without any real irritation.

"I want to,"

"It has to be disgusting. I know it is."

A pause.

Dean wrinkled his nose and hesitated and, on reflex, glanced up at Sam. As if for guidance.

Sam shrugged. "Dude, do what you want."

And that was apparently what Dean needed. Clearing his throat, he wrapped the hamburger up. "Yeah, okay, it's gross. It is actual cardboard."

Castiel remembered that. The tastes were one of the upsides of humanity. He chewed his own hamburger and swallowed as Dean started the car.

For now, Dean was alright. But that could all change in a moment. It was only a matter of time before he boiled over. Castiel preferred to be present when he did. Cass wasn't excellent at being human, but he knew how to deal with the overreaction of an angel. At least, he hoped he did.

Unfortunately, destiny was very seldom on Castiel's side (he'd been rude the last time they met). Dean was alone with Sam when it finally happened.

* * *

To most people with screwed up lives, there was a particular moment where everything changed. Everything was mostly alright until *insert horrific thing*.

Like... your mother dies.

Or you leave your family

Or your girlfriend dies.

Or the world nearly ends.

Or you become a prophesized boy king of the legions of Hell. Naturally.

Sam had a few to choose from.

But he didn't remember the first time everything went sideways because he'd been six months old. He'd kind of been living in the aftermath, the messed up part, of his life… forever.

And so maybe that was why he found contentment easier than Dean, Sam figured. He didn't expect things to ever be perfect. He'd never known actual peace so he couldn't miss it. The closest he'd ever come to it was in his time spent at university. But that… that hadn't even really been peace. He'd been in denial.

So maybe when he'd had all that stuff go down with demon blood and telekinesis and visions, it hadn't really surprised him too much. Weird, horrible stuff had _always_ been normal. Inevitable.

That wasn't how Dean worked. He had these memories of a time before. A time when things truly seemed peaceful. And he was spending his entire life wishing to get back to that even if he wouldn't say it, or if he didn't even realize it.

Sam didn't think becoming an angel was part of the plan. This was his brother who tried so hard to convince Sam angels didn't exist only a few years before.

Why did Dean have such a difficult time with issues like that? Well, maybe his standards were too high. Sam had always had more faith than Dean, which was ironic looking at how they'd turned out.

Sam did not expect the 'good guys' to be perfect since, really, perfect did not exist, but Dean, he was still looking for those angels Mom said watched over him and these angels he'd met were not the sort he wished existed.

Huh. Sam should have become a therapist. Introspection was a gift of his.

As he calmly thought about this, his feet drummed against the earth. The full moon looked down from above. His reality was much less calm than his thoughts, but he was used to that. He leaped over a large puddle and swung around a corner. "Dean!" he shouted. "Dean, they're coming!"

"What!" Dean popped his head out of their motel door. They were in a little forest motel on the edge of the highway. Skidding on gravel, Sam almost flew into Dean. His breath came in gasps. "Werewolves. Lots. Pissed off."

"I _told_ you not to engage!" Dean answered. He pulled the door open and slammed it shut as soon as Sam was inside. They threw their shoulders against the door and half a moment later, several extremely strong individuals flung themselves onto the other side.

"It wasn't on _purpose_!" Sam grunted. "They saw me!"

They pressed harder on the door, and Dean fumbled with the locking mechanism. He managed to get it on somehow, but it was not going to hold.

"Where's Cass?"

"He's in town being hit on by some chick at a gas station," Dean answered. The door shuddered. He pressed harder against it.

Sam wondered how it was Dean knew _exactly_ what Cass was doing. Dean had been saying things like that for weeks, and Sam now knew it had something to do with his Grace, but how did it work?

Suddenly, the door stopped rattling.

Carefully, they listened. Sam frowned. "What are they doing?"

"Sam, I'm not a magic 8 ball."

Sam glared at him, and Dean rolled his eyes. "They're just sort of standing there. Looking for another way…" Suddenly, he stiffened. "The windows."

Before Sam could react, Dean pushed him back away from said window, and glass rained through the room followed by several animalists, fanged, dirty people. They leaped in with roars and shrieks. There were seven of them, all looking seriously pissed off and hungry. Sam liked to keep his heart in his chest, thank you very much.

Dean and Sam scrambled backward and grabbed for weapons at random, but they'd just got here and everything was still in the Impala. Which was in town with Cass.

Dean threw Sam a gun he'd had tucked away and picked up a weirdly shaped lamp. The werewolves advanced with growls and hisses, pushing them into a corner. Dean lifted his stupid lamp, and Sam raised his weapon over his brother's shoulder.

Just as one leaped forward, Sam fired into its chest. The discharge was so loud in the small room it left his ears ringing, and the creature paused, shocked. But the bullet wasn't silver and a moment later, it growled and its companions all attacked at once.

The next few minutes were a flurry of shooting and kicking and throwing. Sam fell against the bedside table, and it broke underneath him. _That is going to hurt a lot after this,_ he thought disjointedly as he kicked wildly at the absurdly strong woman currently trying to rip his heart out of his chest.

Dean smacked one of them with his lamp, and it fell backward. They were holding the monsters. Barely. And not for long. The werewolf slashed at his chest, and Sam grunted in pain as blood blossomed in crimson streams through his shirt. He thrust the werewolf off of him and scrambled to his feet. Quickly, Sam slammed the leg of the broken table against one of their faces and stumbled past to stand by Dean. "Do something!" Sam shouted. They could hardly speak over all the noise. He thrust the wood into a werewolves throat and kicked it back.

"What do you think I'm doing!" Dean shouted back, knocking a werewolf on the side of the head with his metal lamp. Sam realized after a second that the lamp was still glowing despite the bulb being broken and the lamp not being remotely plugged into a power source. What the heck were they doing?

"Dean, I mean" Duck, stab, "Do _something_!"

Now, he got it. Dean pushed the werewolf away and threw him a shocked look. "What! No! I don't know how to!"

"Please, Dean!"

"No!"

Right. Sam switched tactics as it became more and more difficult to keep the creatures at bay. How stupid was it to die from a bunch of werewolves when the Apocalypse was on its way. His arms trembled beneath the snapping jaws of a large man. Their eyes held no sanity or mercy. "Dean!" he shouted sharply. "What is the point of any of it if you're useless!"

"I'm not _doing_ anything, Sam!"

"Then it's _your fault._ "

That got him. Furious eyes leveled on Sam. "You ass-"

Sam shoved his stick through a werewolf's eye. "Get over it! You're an angel! _Act like one._ " Sam was in _no way_ as okay with this fact as he seemed when he said those words, but he needed Dean to help.

A wind from nowhere picked up, and the lights flickered. The werewolves paused, and Sam used the time to scramble back. "Forget you, Sam," Dean spat, slamming the lamp against another werewolf. This time, the creature howled and fell on its face. It did not get up. Dean didn't appear to notice the trembling world around him, focused solely on Sam. "Just because you're okay being a freak don't mean _I_ am!"

The lights in the room abruptly exploded and cloaked the room in darkness and Sam got a final look at Dean's face transforming from anger to terror. _He can't control it_ , Sam realized suddenly. Fear thrust through Sam, and he scrambled away. The werewolves screamed, but darkness became very bright all at once; so bright Sam had to screw his eyes shut and it still hurt with them closed. The ground shook and a high pitched whine filled the air, and Sam's heart beat rapidly in his chest. He suddenly recalled the people he knew who'd had their eyes burnt out by angels, who'd been utterly demolished by little more than a thought on their part. _And I just pissed one off._

But then the sound cut out and a moment later, several thumps announced the defeat of their enemies. Sam couldn't quite stop his throat from contracting. _Dean wouldn't hurt me._

 _Not on purpose._

Silence.

Sam could hear Dean's ragged breathing. He knew that sound. It was the sort of noise Dean only made when he woke from nightmares that he'd refuse to speak of. _You just made him do that._ You _did this._

Sam opened his eyes, dread sinking into his stomach. A strange mix of awe and terror and relief filled him. The room was burnt to a crisp. The beds, reduced to lumps of coal, and a painting that rocked crookedly on the wall, were the only recognizable features of the motel room. Sam was crouched in a very small spot of carpet behind Dean, the only non-burnt place in the room.

What had he been _thinking?_ Pure shock rampant on his face, Dean stood in a circle of the dead werewolves, which were no more than burnt husks. His gaze flicked around the room in horror.

Carefully, Sam stood. "Dean?" he spoke cautiously. The air was still filled with electric charge, and it prickled Sam's arms. He felt that if he moved too fast, he might scare Dean into overreacting again. He should have listened to Cass when he warned him to be careful. He should have _listened._

Dean said nothing. He didn't seem to be able to hear him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides and suddenly one of his legs gave out, and he faltered. Instantly, Sam jumped up, forgoing caution, to grab him before he dropped, but instead of falling unconscious like he had the other times he'd done things like this, Dean pushed Sam away roughly. "I'm fine," he whispered. "I-I'm-" He shivered and that shock transformed all at once into terror once more. "This," Dean hissed, "is why I don't want to _act like an angel_."

"You're right," Sam said softly. "I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have provoked you."

Dean was shivering. He never got like this. Ever. Dean Winchester was terrified and that just didn't compute in Sam's brain. Dean shouldn't be afraid of anything, least of all himself.

He licked his lips dryly and his distracted gaze landed on Sam. "Are _you_ afraid of me?"

Standing there amid the corpses of several werewolves, puddles of bubbling plastic which had once been a chair and a telephone, the carpet melted and blackened into oblivion, the walls covered in ash and soot, his brother as the catalyst of this crater, Sam could not honestly say...

"Course not, Dean."

Dean nodded and looked down at the corpses. He gulped thickly.

Suddenly, the front door rattled and came off its melted hinges. Dean jumped and thrust a hand reflexively, but Sam quickly jerked after him and grabbed his arm. "W-wait, Dean. It's Cass. It's just Cass."

"... Cass?"

A pair of shocked, blue eyes and a tuft of brown hair peered around the door frame, and Dean relaxed significantly. He pulled away from Sam and ran the shaking hand through his hair. "I-I just… I need… give me a minute."

Before any of them could stop him, Dean stumbled forward, caught himself on the doorframe and purposefully did not meet Cass's gaze. "Don't," he grunted when Castiel almost spoke. "Don't say anything."

With that, he slipped out of the door into the night and the darkness beyond. Castiel turned to watch him go, but Dean was already out of sight. "Should we...?"

"Just give him a second. Then, yeah." Sam exhaled and wrapped his hands behind his neck. He couldn't deny, as guilty as it made him feel, the fear he'd just felt. Dean was terrifying. He hadn't even been _that_ mad, either. _You are screwing everything up._

Castiel nodded nervously but agreed. Carefully, he stepped deeper into the room and surveyed the damage sadly. His calm demeanor was something Sam was extremely grateful for. Castiel knew how to deal with this, and slipping into charge was easy. "We should leave. Several of the other guests have called the police. They will be here any moment."

"Okay." There wasn't much else to do in this situation. Sam stepped over the dead bodies, and Castiel took his arm to guide him the rest of the way.

They closed the door on the bombsite behind them. Besides the shattered windows, it almost looked normal from the outside. Guilt sludged through Sam as they walked quickly to the Impala. "I messed up," he confessed.

Cass frowned, glancing at him sharply.

"We were attacked by a bunch of werewolves, and I… I tried to get him angry because I thought… I don't know." He moaned in frustration and ducked into the Impala. "It was stupid."

With restrained ire, Castiel got into the passenger seat and stared at him narrowly. "He could have killed you, Sam."

"I _know,_ " Sam spat back. "I just… I didn't think it would be like _that._ "

" _Obviously_." He crossed his arms and looked forward as they eased out of the parking lot. "Untrained Grace is volatile. It overreacts, and it takes _ages_ to use it with the finesse you have seen other angels use. We have to be careful with him. Why do you think _Gabriel_ of all people decided to _cross the ocean_ with him."

Sam chewed his cheek. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay."

In the end, they did not need to search for Dean long. At the next stop sign, Dean ducked into the backseat with a sense of urgency. The door shut with a slam, and both Sam and Castiel jumped in surprise at his sudden entrance. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed that his eyes no longer held the awful haunted look they had a few minutes before. He'd found a distraction and was fully focused on it. Good.

"Cass, we've got a problem."

Castiel twisted in his seat. "Besides the obvious ones," he said dryly

Dean squinted at him irritably. "Oh ha ha, you're turning into a really clever guy. Yes, besides the obvious one- Sam, you can keep driving- no, do you know what…_?" Here he said something lyrical and complex in a language Sam did not know but apparently made perfect sense to Castiel.

Cass nodded. "Co-ordinance. They get translated like that automatically through, um, well, prayer."

Dean blinked. He cleared his throat. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. Co-ordinance are good."

"Why?"

"You remember that little girl we saved from that demon a few months ago?"

"Piper?" Castiel paled. "Is she okay?"

Dean shook his head. "She begged for my help."

Suddenly, Sam recalled something the little girl had said which made no sense at the time. _Dean fly like a birdie._ Had she known? Could she _tell_ somehow?

Well, that was that. Sam turned to the side of the road. "So?" he said briskly. "Where is she?"

Dean and Cass exchanged glances, and after a moment of consideration, Castiel chewed his lip. "Las Vegas."

* * *

AN: Please review! This was a _wonderfully_ long chapter, so hopefully, you liked that. Someone made note of the fact that I spell Castiel's nickname with two S's. Super sorry if that bothers you. I'm pretty new to this fandom and didn't even realize that 1-or-2-S's battle was a thing until I was already in the habit of writing like that, and then changing was too difficult when you've written 2 hundred pages... So yeah. If you're still reading this despite my 'alternate' way of spelling his name bothering you, I am extremely grateful.


	18. These Are The Lies

18\. These Are The Lies

Piper liked the mall. There were pretty people and shiny things and lots of good smells. She tucked some flyaway hairs behind her ear and smiled contentedly up at the woman who insisted Piper call Nana. Her hand was dwarfed in the larger woman's, and Piper had to walk twice as fast to keep up. Nana was nice. She used to have a husband but he went on vacation a long time ago and hadn't come home yet. She had a big house. It was very empty without people to fill it. Right now there were just Nana and Piper inside, but sometimes other kids would come. Piper tried to be kind to them. She remembered how scared she'd been when she first came here.

Nana wasn't like Auntie at all. Even though Piper missed her sister and her Castle a whole lot and sometimes she cried just thinking about them, Nana was very good at making her happy again when she was sad or scared. She'd give her cookies and warm milk and wrap her in a blanket and sit up with her even if it was the middle of the night. Sometimes, Nana would read her a story. Piper liked a lot of stories, but the one she liked best was a little angel who accidentally died his wings blue. She'd giggle. The angels in the book didn't look like _real_ angels, but it was close enough. Piper told Nana this once, and Nana cocked her head.

"What do you mean, Piper?" she asked

Piper shrugged. She knew demons were real because Castle told her so, and she thought angels must too because she'd seen ones that looked a little like the angels in the book. "Real angels are _really_ bright. You have to squint. Sometimes they have lots of faces. An' they don't have those ring things on their heads."

"Halos?"

"Yeah."

Nana chuckled and brushed her hair out of her face. "You know, I imagine you are right, girly." This made Piper grin. Nana wasn't _always_ the best. She made her eat vegetables and go to bed early and sometimes she talked very meanly if she was irritated, but for the most part, Nana was good. If she was a color, Nana would be a thick, healthy yellow. Piper's favorite.

Piper told her about Castle and the tall man with a good smile Sam and the pretty, pretty Dean with the wings made of light. She told her about how they'd protected her from the monsters and Auntie, and Piper didn't think Nana believed her because she tried to say that Castle and Sam and Dean were bad men, but that wasn't true. Piper knew when somebody was a bad person. They made her wrinkle her nose and tickled all the way down her back and into her white tennis shoes. Her Castle wasn't bad.

She stopped talking about them though because it made Nana 'stressed'. Once, Nana took Piper by the shoulders and pursed her lips sadly. "Piper, there is no Castle. No Sam. No Dean. They aren't real."

That was a lie. Nana was _lying_. Lying was bad! "Not true! They're my angels!"

"Piper..." Nana sighed. So Piper stopped talking about the demons and her angels. Castle said he'd visit, but he hadn't yet. Someday he'd visit, but they'd have to be careful Nana didn't see him because she might try to hit him with her kitchen spoon like she hit the boy who stole apples from her apple tree.

Piper had not been outside of the house except to go to church and school for what felt like forever. For a long time, she'd not been able to sleep without thinking of scary things. Castle said the necklace kept her safe from demons like the one that looked like Auntie, and she clutched it when she was scared at night and when shadows moved funny. Maybe the star would protect Nana. Nana needed to be safe too.

Piper drew Nana a star just like hers in the circle of flames, and she stuck it in Nana's purse. Another one she rolled up and pushed into the hole where the string of the hood on her hoodie that she wore most days was supposed to stick through. She didn't think Nana would like to see the symbols because she didn't like Piper's necklace. But Nana needed to be safe.

"What's that?" Nana once asked her when Piper got out of the bathtub. Piper was wrapped in a very large towel, and she started in surprise when she realized she'd forgotten to bury her necklace in her clothes like she usually did. Castle said not to let people see it… But Nana was a good one. "Castle gave it to me. It protects me from the monsters."

"Can I see it?"

Piper nodded and let Nana pick it off her bare chest. Nana put on her stressed face. "Piper, this… is… someone gave it to you?"

"Castle gave it to me."

"Castle has a funny fashion sense," Nana muttered. Sighing, she stood and dropped the necklace. "That symbol can mean some bad things, Piper. I don't think you should wear it."

Tears sprung into Piper's eyes and she closed the star in her fist. "No! No, Nana, it protects me!"

Nana hesitated. After a long moment, she sighed. "I suppose you're wearing it under your clothes anyhow," she said reluctantly.

So that was how Piper knew Nana did not like the star and Piper had to be clever to get it places and make them safe spots. She drew the star underneath her car seat padding, and she drew it inside her desk at school with a purple crayon and she drew it under the kitchen table. She even drew it under the rug by the door when Nana gave her some chalk to play with one time. No demons getting in here. She was actually getting pretty good at drawing the star and the funny flamed circle now. Hopefully, just drawing it was enough to keep the demons away.

Piper really wished she could ask Castle. No, his name wasn't Castle. It was something like that but more hard to say. Cass. The angel (he _was_ an angel, Piper decided) said to call him Cass. It had been a _really_ long time, and he still hadn't visited. Castle- Cass- wasn't a liar. He'd come. And maybe he'd bring Dean and Sam too and maybe this time Dean would let her touch his wings.

Could he fly? The angels in the books could fly. Perhaps he wasn't very good at it and that's why he walked. Or maybe he was out of batteries? Piper was up for any explanation.

"Piper, do you want to play on the playground?" Nana said, pulling her back to reality.

Piper shifted her weight and looked down the stairs toward the plastic, oversized playground swarming with children in the center of the mall. Crowded places made her nervous and lots of people made her feel kind of sick too. Other kids were so loud and sometimes they were not nice. She had enough of them at school.

Nana nudged her forward, hands in her hoodie pocket. "Go on, Piper. I'll be right over here. I'm going in that store just there. You can see me through the window."

Piper chewed her lip and nodded hesitantly. "Okay."

If Castle could stop monsters, she could play on a play place. Fingering her necklace out of nervous habit, Piper stepped down the stairs and shuffled her feet at the entrance. Quietly, she peered around the wall, and she wondered why it was so hard to make friends. She looked up at Nana, who waved at her from the other side of the glass in some smelly soap shop. Piper waved back. Maybe she should just go…

"Hey, do you wanna play hide and seek?"

Piper jumped, surprised, and came face to face with a boy a little older than her. He waved her inside, and Piper entered. She nodded hesitantly, twisting her hands. She was very good at hide and seek.

A few minutes later, she and about a dozen kids scurried off to find hiding places in the playground. Piper was busy crawling beneath an oversized book when the boy from before caught up to her. "I know somewhere no one will find us," he whispered, "Wanna go hide there?"

Piper squinted but nodded. "Okay. Where is it?"

"Come on, I'll show you." The boy wove around the playground and came to the exit. He took her hand and tugged her through. "It's just over here. No one thinks to look _outside_ of the play place."

Some alarm went off in the back of Piper's head, and she tried to pull away. "M-my Nana won't like it if I leave the playground. Let's just hide inside."

The boy shook his head. "Aw, don't be such a pansy!" He didn't give her a choice. With more strength than he could possibly possess, he tugged her along to a small hallway cloaked in shadows between stores. Piper tried to open her mouth but found that she couldn't. It was happening again. No!

The necklace was supposed to protect her!

Piper tried to pull away, but the boy was very strong. He pressed her against the wall and held her there with a single finger on her collar bone. No one could see them back here. His face transformed into an ugly one filled with disgust and disdain. "Pathetic. _This_ is what's got the birdies all in a flutter?" The boy sniffed, and his eyes flicked black. "What's so special about you anyway?"

Piper was frozen stiff with fear. She tried very hard not to cry. Her angels didn't cry. "Not special," she said in a trembling voice.

Snorting, the boy poked her on the nose. "Now _that_ I doubt." He took a deep breath and something thickened in the air. Opening his mouth, a black smoke rushed out and flew at her. Piper screamed and closed her eyes fearfully, but suddenly the pressure holding her released and the boy stumbled back. The smoke flew into his mouth again, and he scowled at her. "Oh, cleverer that you look. Where the heck did you get an anti-possession charm, hmm?"

The necklace! It _had_ protected her!

"Take it off," the demon demanded.

Piper shook her head. "No."

The demon raised his hand and suddenly Piper was dangling in the air. Her throat became smaller and smaller and she cried now. Tears fell down her face and she choked and gagged air she couldn't get to.

 _Help me, please! Help me, Dean, Castle, Sam! The bad demon has me!_

Funny little black dots danced in her vision.

 _Help... me, Dean!_

All at once, the pressure was gone again, and Piper fell to the floor. She crumpled like a can of coke beneath a tire and breathed raggedly and desperately. Blinking rapidly, she looked up to see a very bright man with large wings that shined light throughout the entire hall. Relieved, Piper relaxed. She would be okay if there was an angel here. His face flickered between a lion's, a horned goat thing, an eagle, and a man's. Eventually, it settled on the face of a highly irritated, balding man.

This was an angel, Piper knew. She stared at him awe. But this wasn't _her_ angel. This definitely wasn't Dean. Dean's wings were bare wisps of light while this angel held his in a powerful, threatening way. The demon shrieked and disappeared, and the angel scowled after it. "Idiot," the angel muttered. After a second, he turned its gaze to look down at Piper, who was still curled up on the floor. Quickly, she wiped the tears from her eyes and got to her feet.

"Hello, sir," she said in the steadiest voice she could manage. "Y-your wings a very pretty. What's your name?"

The angel raised an eyebrow. "I am called Zachariah… Come, child, I will keep you safe."

Piper nodded and stepped nearer to him. She grabbed his hand, which seemed to startle the man, but he did not let her go.

Piper frowned. There was something in the way his light flickered; something in the tense way he held her hand. Suddenly, Piper wasn't certain she wanted to go with this angel either. "I want to go back to my Nana, please."

The angel shook his head. "It is too dangerous for you to stay here, Piper. The demons believe they can use you to hurt angels, and they will keep trying to take you."

Piper's eyes widened. Why would demons think that? She sniffed and wiped her eyes again. "I-I still want to go back to Nana's."

Now Zachariah's hand became very tight. Too tight. She tugged away and tears threatened to spill over her cheeks again. This wasn't a good angel. He wasn't like Dean. He wasn't like Sam or Castle.

 _Z-Zachariah won't let me go home, Dean!_ She prayed desperately. _Make him let me go!_

There was no response, and Piper didn't know if that was normal or not. Sighing grumpily, Zachariah reached forward and placed two fingers on her forehead.

And… nothing happened.

The angel frowned and pressed harder. Still crying, Piper swatted his hand away. "Leave me alone!"

"Fascinating," Zachariah murmured. "I guess we will have to do this the difficult way." Before Piper could react, he placed his hands on her shoulders and spread his wings.

The mall faded away like a chalk painting in the rain and Piper trembled. _Please save me, Castle. Please save me, Dean. The angel is not a nice man._

* * *

The car bumped over a pothole, and Sam grunted in the backseat. Shutting his book, Castiel rubbed his eyes. It was too dark to read comfortably. Behind him, Sam was asleep with butterfly stitches on the scratches over his chest and a new shirt. Castiel had helped with that since Dean had insisted on driving and hardly took his hands off the wheel. They were somewhere in the middle of New Mexico, and the stars were awe inspiring. The land stretched out in all directions broken only by a mountain or two. In the morning, the sun would rise and bring brilliant orange and reds along to contrast with a blue sky. But now, with the side of his forehead against the glass, all that Castiel could see were the road highlighted by their headlights and the stars that flickered from billions of miles away. At one point, he'd known all of the stars' names. He'd studied them and flown in between their rippling power. He'd watched collisions and the last flickerings of dwarf stars, and he'd stood immovable as supernovas ripped holes in reality. And strangely, it was only now he realized how incredible that was.

Dean ought to see stars like that. He deserved to witness such things. Maybe someday he would.

"You good, Cass?" Dean grunted, eyes on the road.

Cas lifted his head to look at him and shrugged. "I am fine."

"You're not really, though."

"There are more pressing matters than my emotional stability, Dean."

Snorting, Dean smirked and wagged his finger at him. "See? That's where it starts. Cause I'm tellin you, man, there's _always_ more pressing matters than emotional stability. And eventually, you get all screwed up inside because you don't ever deal with any of it."

Castiel cocked his head, surprised by his friend's introspection. "You speak from experience."

"You friggin bet."

Castiel exhaled. "I… imagine you are correct."

"Course, I am."

The silence lapped between them like waves on a gentle shore. Castiel shifted to find a more comfortable position. There was a knot of worry in his stomach that stemmed from several things, but right now mostly was centered around Piper's well-being.

"What did she actually say?" Castiel asked Dean. "Piper, I mean." It was extremely frustrating that they could not just appear in front of Piper. But Dean didn't know how to do that and after the earlier events in the motel room, Castiel didn't dare ask him. All the same, they had to drive for _hours_ before they would reach Piper and there was nothing else to be done but drive as fast as possible.

Dean chewed his lip. "It was kinda hard to understand. I think she was crying. I got the idea that there was a demon attacking her, but then she started talking about Zachariah and she was just as scared."

That did not spell well. "What do angels want with a little girl?" Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. But I was thinking…" He trailed off, and Castiel waited expectantly.

"You were thinking?"

He took a breath. "It's just, she couldn't have known. That, like, _prayer_ ," He cleared his throat. "was something she could use to reach me. Us. We didn't even know about it until a week ago."

It was fairly obvious that he was avoiding actually putting 'it' into words, and Castiel didn't know much about psychology, but he didn't think that was a good sign. However, Dean did make a good point. And hadn't Piper said something about Dean _flying_? About brightness? He'd assumed children just spoke like that, but maybe she was not as average as they had assumed. "There are people who can perceive an angel's true form," he began slowly, "but none have existed for a very long time."

Dean hummed in agreement. "Could she be a prophet?"

"No. I would remember her name. Also, not all prophets have Sight like that."

Another hum/grunt. Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel. "Well, then she must be one of your special people. Any reason Zachariah would want to knap someone like that?"

Castiel squinted as he thought. There _was_ a possibility… but those were just stories, weren't they? "There are old accounts of those humans being unaffected by the abilities of angels. They could be trained to be used as weapons… against... them." As he spoke, a horrible thought occurred to Cass, and the blood rushed from his face. Dean cursed quietly.

"They would use a _kid_ to fight the devil?"

"They will do anything."

Again, Dean cursed, this time louder. "I thought this was just between Michael and Lucifer!"

"Well, obviously they believe they need backup, Dean. They can't find you and you weren't likely to say yes anyway. Why didn't we see this _before_?" Castiel ran a worried hand over his face. He should have been paying attention; been smarter. He was the expert on angels, wasn't he? "Without you as a vessel, Michael will have to take a lesser one, and he will not be at full power."

"So it's _my_ fault," Dean spat.

"I didn't say that!"

Dean shook his head angrily and clenched his jaw. "No. Nope, you know what, never mind. This _isn't_ my fault. This is friggin ' _Yeshua's',_ and his _plan_ is taking _way_ too long to work itself out!"

"Dean…" The car radio suddenly buzzed, static and a commercial about _Asianbustybeauties for 99 cents an issue-_ Castiel froze, not quite afraid yet, but certainly on high alert.

Dean stared at the radio in horror. "Am I doing that?"

"Yes," Castiel said carefully. A radio he could handle. A burning car while going ninety miles an hour would be less pleasant.

The radio got louder, and the headlights flickered. " _ **Crap**_ _, Cass,"_ Dean whispered, hands tight on the wheel.

"It's alright. Just calm down,"

"I _am_ calm!"

The floor vibrated and a slice of fear shot down Castiel's spine. But he needed to be steady. As it turned out, helping Dean was more difficult than he'd thought it would be. Mostly because Dean did not want to be helped.

His Grace wasn't like this before. Before Dean went to Heaven, none of this was happening. Something had changed up there. "Tell it to stop," Cass said firmly. "Imagine the radio going quiet."

Dean gave him a _seriously?_ look which Castiel returned with a glare. "Just do it."

Chewing his lip, Dean looked down at the radio. "Shut up, radio."

"It's not a person, Dean. It's like a dog. Command it."

Glaring, Dean took a deep breath. "Oh, excuse me, I was unaware of the canine resemblance of my _radio._ "

Cass groaned and bit his lip. "Please, Dean."

Dean glanced at him, and a series of emotions crossed over his face. He was obviously uncomfortable, but when the car shook again, his resolve seemed to harden. After a moment, he nodded. For a long second, he stared at the radio. Something brightened in his eyes. " _Quiet,"_ he said.

And it was.

Castiel relaxed. One step at a time…

Meanwhile, Dean grinned triumphantly at the radio and then at Cass. "I did it? Ha! Beat _that_ , radio!"

Chuckling, Castiel slumped more comfortably in his seat.

Behind them, Sam slept through it all.

"That wasn't as hard as I thought, actually," Dean babbled. "I mean, it's _weird_ but it worked and nothing exploded so…"

"It's progress." Castiel picked at the threads of his hoodie and considered the likelihood of Dean freaking out again if he broached a subject that needed to be addressed. He'd been considering something for some time, but it was difficult to explain exactly… He watched Dean out of the corner of his eye and they were silent for a bit, interrupted only by Sam's shuffling in his sleep. Should he ask him?

"I'm not a kid, Cass," Dean said out of nowhere. "Shoot."

Was this how humans felt? Startled, Castiel looked up. They had always seemed so startled when he spoke. Maybe he used to say things like that too. Dean was answering a question Castiel hadn't said out loud, and so he hadn't been expecting a response. But there was not going to be more of an invitation than that, Castiel thought. "There is a reason angels do not have emotions as potent as humans," he started slowly.

Dean stilled. His mood dipped a bit, but, as he'd said, nothing exploded. "Yeah?"

" _You_ don't seem to have that same damper." Castiel couldn't tell if Dean was relieved or not by this revelation. Perhaps both."Which will only make it more difficult to control your Grace."

Slowly, Dean nodded. He chewed on his lower lip. He always got so awkward whenever Cass actually _said_ it. In a way it was endearing, but it was also not healthy.

"If you can't learn to control your emotions, you're going to end up with worse accidents than buzzing radio."

"Like exploding a room,"

Castiel nodded. "Or a town."

Quietly, Dean muttered some profanity. He stared out at the road and mulled his response around his mouth before speaking it. "I could have killed Sam," he said bluntly. He was stiff and tight like a stretched rubber band.

This was true. "Yes. But you didn't."

Dean nodded fractionally. That fact seemed to give him a bit of confidence. "I didn't. So… I do have some control."

"That is correct."

"But not enough."

"Also correct."

Dean sighed heavily. And the pressure released. Castiel could not imagine how afraid he must be. Even if he didn't show it on his face.

Despite the deflated mood, Dean tried a sad sort of smile. "What did you say before? 'There are more pressing matters than my emotional stability'?"

Cass rolled his eyes. " _My_ emotional instability isn't going to melt the hinges on doors and reduce beds to piles of ash."

Dean snorted but took the truth in good humor. Which was better than blatant denial, Castiel supposed. "Touche."

As they ate up the miles, the earth spun beneath them and the sun ached to rise and stretch her rosy fingertips across the desert. For now, they were okay. Piper was an angel's captive, Lucifer was on the loose, God was up to something, the apocalypse was looming in the distance. But the Winchesters. In their home on the road, driving to the edge of the earth, things were far from perfect, but they were alright. They were okay. And the stars watched these specks so desperate to survive, and the stars wondered if they would always have to observe those specks from such a distance. Maybe someday they would see them in all their glory.

* * *

AN: and yet another chapter arrives. I don't think I've done a disclaimer... So um, here is a belated, unnecessary disclaimer: I don't own supernatural. If I did, Cas would be in every episode and Sam would have mind-mojo again. Actually, the show would look like this story, lol. So maybe it's a good thing I don't own them... Anyway, please leave a review and tell me what you think!


	19. Exploding And Other Such Pastimes

19\. Exploding And Other Such Pastimes

Las Vegas was not as cracked up as it pretended to be.

Okay, screw that, it was totally as cracked up as it pretended to be. But Piper was far more important than the five stripper bars he'd driven past within the last seven minutes.

"How exactly are we supposed to find her?" Sam asked. He stuck his head between Cass and Dean's seats from the backseat.

"Don't ask," Dean grunted. This was too weird to try to put into words. It wasn't exactly smelling or hearing or sight, but a sort of mix of all of that pressing him toward the very tall hotel/casino currently in front of them. Dean wasn't in a place where logically and methodically thinking about everything was a good idea. Base instinct was easier. A search and rescue. He could conduct a search and rescue.

He wished desperately he could sleep instead.

Sliding into the parking lot, they stopped behind the building. Jerking the car into park, he threw open the door and immediately stepped out into a puddle. He shook off his shoe and stood with a grumble. He'd been driving most of the night with a mix of worry for the little kid _praying_ for him, and even if he didn't really feel physically tired, his brain was exhausted from all the thoughts he didn't like to think about. These thoughts ranged from their present danger. _Piper's still alive. I'd know if she wasn't alive, right? Is that how it works? Would I know? I should ask Cass but that's strange. No, I won't ask. Maybe I should?_

To the earlier catastrophe. _I could have killed Sam. Sam's afraid. Sam's afraid of me. He should be, I mean,_ I'm _afraid of me. Never seen anything like that. Other angels don't do that. Why is it so much worse? Thought I wasn't a friggin emotional person this is so stupid._ I'm _being stupid. This is crap. This whole thing is complete and utter BS._

To the worrying knot that was Castiel. _Wrong. Something's up with him. Not telling me. Why's he not telling me? What's he being weird for? Don't want to hurt him. Just ignore it. Can't_ ignore _it…_

Dean pulled open the trunk as Sam and Cass settled on either side of him.

"Angel blade?"

"Angel blade."

Castiel reached in and took his, and then handed Dean and Sam two others that they had picked up during various encounters. Dean took it and shut the trunk quietly. An unusual set of nerves settled in his stomach, and he chewed his lip as they made their way to the back door. This was okay. He was alright. Yeah. Right... There were at least seven angels upstairs, and Dean wasn't sure he wanted to meet one of those winged dicks again. Like, ever. He'd had enough with Grace, thank you very much.

"You alright, Dean?" Sam asked.

His response held more venom than he'd intended. "I'm fine," he spat. He tried the door. It was locked. Sam was so friggin oblivious sometimes, it was painful.

"Okay. Okay, I just… if you wanted to sit this one…"

And there it was. Idiot.

"Sam," Cass warned quietly.

At the door, Dean jerked around. He didn't need his little brother making things more difficult than they already were. "Dude, I said I'm cool. I swear to gods if you wanna get out of the friggin _bomb zone_ just in case, then by all means..." He didn't have a reason to yell at him. But his entire being was ringing and sharp. He was a conglomeration of serrated glass pretending to be a person. In a way, they all were.

Sam stepped back and raised his hands in a way Dean guessed was supposed to be _calming_ or some crap. "I'm not trying to- that's not what I meant!" he protested.

Oh, right. Because there was actually any point to him pretending to not be scared pantsless by Dean's earlier display. They hadn't really talked since it happened. It was impossible for Dean to ignore. Sam probably wanted to get as far as he could from this freak show they had going on, and Dean kinda thought that might be a good idea, actually. "Look! I'm fine. I'm good. Totally cool. Under control. Right, Cass?" A pause. "Cass," he barked.

Cass opened his mouth and tilted his head to the side, obviously trying to figure out what Dean was wanting him to say. "Well…"

Forget it. They did not have time for his. _Piper_ did not have time for this. "You know what?" Dean pointed rather viciously in both of their faces. "Screw you. And screw you. Let's go."

With that, he turned back around and opened the now-unlocked door.

Dean still didn't know why he was mad. He was absolutely furious. He just was.

Flinging the door open, he stormed into the back of an abandoned kitchen (which was suspicious, the logically thinking part of himself noted). He didn't wait to see if Cass or Sam would catch up. They did naturally after a few moments. "Dean, I just-"

Dean rounded on him. "Do I _look_ like I want to talk to you?"

Sam, on the other hand, wasn't mad, which was just irritating. "Dude, what is your problem? I'm trying to help!"

"Well, stop. I don't need help and certainly not from you."

Sam didn't say anything for a long moment and instead chewed his lip. "Fine," he conceded. "No help. Whatever. But we need a plan, Dean. We can't just barge in there."

"I am inclined to agree," Cass inserted.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You want a plan? Here's the plan. Ride elevator to the seventh floor. Get Piper. Don't get killed. Kill any creep that gets in the way." He threw a sardonic, not at all happy smile in their direction and continued down through the hotel while ignoring Sam's long-suffering groan. Exiting the kitchen, they entered a long hallway decorated with horribly old fashioned wallpaper made of pastel-y flowers and crap like that. It was just putting Dean more on edge. What was this, Umbridge's basement? Keeping up a pace that forced Castiel to walk very quickly and his brother to lengthen his stride, Dean rounded a corner and smiled thinly at the elevator. "Great. Let's-"

Someone put a hand on his elbow. "Dean," Cass said softly.

Dean clentched his jaw and tried to pull away. He stopped at the look Castiel was giving him. Stern and pointed and also concerned. But Castiel wasn't afraid. His eyes were open and his soul continued to seep through the seams. Baring your soul now had a completely literal meaning. He trusted Dean.

The familiar light was steadying, somehow. Cass knew exactly what Dean was capable of. He had to know. And that's why he was stopping him of course. "You can't walk into there like this."

Like 'this'. 'This' was the way anger and frustration were churning in his chest. 'This' was the way that light bulbs were flickering every time he passed by. He hadn't noticed but he did now.

Do you know how hard it is to not freak out about what will happen if you freak out? It made his stomach sick, but if he became too afraid of being too afraid he'd be afraid and on and on the cycle went and it would end up like earlier.

"Dean, look at me."

"I'm fine, Cass," he growled.

"No, you're not. Pretending is only going to make it worse."

Pretending was the only defense Dean had. It was the only defense he'd _ever_ had. _Something feels like crap? Ignore it and pretend you're okay, and hey, maybe you'll actually end up that way._

Dean was aware of Sam watching them quietly. It was very obvious how hard he was trying to not step on Dean's toes. Slight guilt seeped through the anxiety in Dean's chest. Sam didn't deserve to be yelled at…

The knot unwound inside him, and Dean relaxed marginally. They were right, as much as he hated it. He needed to be careful. Very careful. "Alright," he said softly.

"You're good?"

"I'm good."

"Good."

With that, they made it to the elevator. Dean thumbed the button repeatedly and frowned at the empty room around them. "Where is everyone?"

Cass and Sam glanced around and frowned as well. "I dunno," Sam said.

"They were probably convinced to leave."

There wasn't time to consider this odd fact. The doors slid open and the three hunters piled inside. They could have taken the stairs, of course, but that would give the enemy higher ground if they happened to meet someone on the way up. This way, everything was level.

"When you meet the other angels, Dean," Castiel said quietly, "don't attack outright. They probably won't recognize you."

"It's the new haircut, right? Does wonders."

Sam snorted, and Castiel gave Dean a signature _no, what the heck are you talking about_ look. It transformed after a moment, and he smiled slightly. "You are joking."

"There you go." Dean tried to smile as well to prove he really was okay. Dear gods, his moods were just all over the place weren't they? One moment furious, the next cracking jokes.

Jokes were probably a better idea. A safer idea.

Maybe, Dean thought suddenly, that's why Gabriel was always speaking in riddles and pranks. They were much easier to hide behind than anger. And Gabriel had millenniums of anger to build on.

 _Annnnnd_ , now he was relating to the psychopath who'd tried to see if he'd just 'spontaneously' get over his fear of heights if he fell from a plane. Wonderful.

"Course," Cass said after a moment with a nose wrinkled in thought, "this would be much easier if you knew how to smite."

"Pretty sure he's good in that department," Sam muttered.

Castiel grimaced. "If you want to see a repeat of Sodom and Gomorrah."

"I'm standing right here, thanks," Dean grunted. This conversation was making Dean distinctly uncomfortable. He shoved a hand into his jean pocket. "I like weapons anyway." He flipped his blade with the other and caught it just as the ground settled. The doors gave a nice, lighthearted 'ping' to announce their arrival.

All three stiffened, ready for a fight as the doors eased open. They kept their blades at their sides, but ready to rise at any instant. Dean tucked his up his sleeve. Carefully, they exited into an equally horrifically decorated room that split into three hallways. Two to the right and left, and one forward. They hesitated in the utter silence. "Which way, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't know. Piper, who had been keeping up a near constant buzz in the back of his head, had gone silence. "I… I don't know."

"Is she okay?" Cass asked quickly.

Dean shook his head. He couldn't tell. He just didn't know how to do this. "I can't hear her."

This was received illy by both of his companions. "Split," Sam whispered. They nodded and each chose a hallway. Dean chose the one that felt the most 'right' and hoped that actually meant something, and he wasn't just wandering blindly.

A few minutes later, someone pressed a sharp point against his spine, and he had to wonder just how self-destructive his 'intuition' was.

"Identify yourself, soldier" a voice muttered in an accent Dean was unfamiliar with. Dean could feel the man's pulsing warmth (Grace?) coursing behind him, curiously attempting to search and identify Dean. Dean backed away (without physically moving, so whatever that even meant, Dean didn't really know) from whatever friggin mind search thing the angel was trying to do. Yeah, not gonna happen.

This appeared to shock the angel. So much so, that he loosened his grip on Dean. "How are you-?"

Carefully, Dean lifted his hands. He turned slightly. "Look, I don't mean any-" Mid-sentence, he slammed his elbow back into the angel's face. The man's head whipped back, and he slammed against a wall.

Huh. Cool.

The blade slipped into his grasp, and Dean slammed the man against the wall again as the angel tried to stand. Blood leaked from his nose, and the blonde man's eyes went wide with shock. Dean pinned him against the pink and white pastel colors and offered him a crooked, nasty smile. "So, I need to know where you're keeping a little girl. Seen her? About yay' high, red hair, cute smile, currently _scared out of her mind?_ " Dean shoved the angel against the wall harder with both his forearm and the angel blade. As it turned out, some violence was just the release he needed.

"I-I-" the angel stuttered. "T-the abomination?"

"Abomination my butt," Dean spat. "She's _seven_. Now tell me where she is or a swear I will paint these walls red."

The angel shuddered. He was afraid. Coward. "I-I don't want to die. She'll kill us. Raphael said she'll kill us once she has grown. We-we can't allow that. We're j-just getting ahead of the game."

"Wrong," Dean snapped, "You're using a kid to keep your god-forsaken _Apocalypse_ on track! How _stupid_ can you be?"

The angel was legitimately disgusted beneath all that fear stemming from the blade held to his throat. "She's just a human," the angel said with a creased brow. "It hardly matters."

Dean sliced down the angel's sternum and covered his mouth quickly when the angel started to scream. It was just a cut. It wouldn't kill him. But it had to hurt like hell. "Want to tell me where she is now?"

"Room 746," the angel gasped, his Adam's apple bobbing frantically. Dean smiled.

"See? That wasn't so hard."

Dean shoved the blade up behind the man's ribs, and the angel screamed. He arched to heaven, and a deep blue mass writhed inside him, shining through his mouth and eyes. Dean twisted the blade and suddenly the man's wings rushed into reality, making Dean flinch back in shock. They stretched wide in desperation, and with another twist, they burst into painfully blue flames.

This all came to pass in less than a moment.

When the man's body slumped into Dean's arms, his wings were gone and had left black charcoal shadows on the wall behind him.

Holy...

Dean shuddered and untangled himself from his enemy quickly. Awed horror overcame him, and he stood very still. There was a deep tug inside his chest that made his breath catch in his throat. He could _feel_ the angel ceasing to exist. He wasn't 'going somewhere else'. He was becoming nothing. Less than dust.

And Dean made that happen.

It had been a very long time since Dean felt physically sick after killing something. He'd gone mostly numb to it several years ago. But this was different somehow.

Dean cleared his throat and wiped the blade on his jeans. It was so much worse when you could see what was going on inside as they died.

He didn't have time to be merciful, however. Piper was praying again. Occasionally, her whispers would slip through the static that had settled in the back of his brain. Over the last several hours, Dean had gotten used to, if not comfortable with, the feeling of someone else's voice in his head.

He poked his head around a corner and noted two angels standing guard in front of a large suite. They shifted their weights nervously, obviously aware that something was not right. Dean guessed he only had a few seconds before they realized he was here. The suite was number 746. On the other side of the hall, someone else peaked. Sam. The hallways must have circled around. Dean met his eyes and inclined his head in silent question. _Where's Cass?_

Sam shrugged.

Okay. Fine, they didn't have time to wait. Blade in hand, Dean stepped forward. Part of him did not want to be anywhere near here. To be honest, he wished he could fall asleep and forget about this for just a moment. He wished he had something to distract him from this reality, but that was not a possibility. Piper was so quiet now, he thought she must be being muted somehow.

Angel or not, he was Dean Winchester. Saving people was part of the job description. And he'd be damned before he let _Grace_ get in the way.

* * *

Her angels were coming.

Piper wiped her eyes and stood up at the sound of the thumps coming from outside the room she was stuck in. The scary angel kept trying to make her eat candy. He told her things that weren't true and tried to be nice, but he was bad at being nice. Piper wasn't stupid. She knew not to eat candy given to her by strangers. She didn't know why she was here or what the angel wanted with her, and she just would really her angels to come now.

"Just take it, little girl. You have not eaten for hours."

Piper shook her head and tugged her coat tighter. Her eyes stayed on the door and Zachariah's gaze drifted that direction as well. He frowned. "Don't move," he muttered. He moved to stand, but at that moment, the doors burst open and two men half stumbled, half ran in.

Joy raced through Piper, and she let out a shriek of happiness. "Dean!"

"Hey, kiddo." Dean winked at her and turned to look at Zechariah. Dean was brighter than before, and Piper realized he didn't look like the other angels. He had half formed, smokey, wing-like shapes on his back that carved funny symbols in the air around him. The light was brilliant white and orange like flames instead of white and blue like the light of the other angels. He held a sword in his hand, and Sam (still very, _very_ tall) stepped up next to him.

Meanwhile, Zachariah was shocked. He hadn't believed her when she said her angels were going to rescue her. _Idiot girl,_ he'd said, _we_ are _the angels._ "M-Michael?" he stuttered.

Who was that? Piper frowned. She tried to run toward Sam, but suddenly something held her in place. She was stuck. Zachariah was holding her still. Just like before. Tears pricked her eyes.

"Nope," Dean answered. He didn't offer anything else.

"Give us the girl," Sam said.

Piper nodded fiercely.

But Zachariah was still mean. He snorted. "You have got to be kidding me. You think you can just _ask,_ and I'd give her to you?"

Dean stepped closer and his wings of light spread wide. They poised threateningly over Zachariah, and Zachariah stepped back just slightly. Sweat beaded on his upper lip.

"I don't understand. You cannot possibly be Dean Winchester."

Dean had a scary face on. It was unnaturally blank. His eyes flashed. "I think that is beside the point, screwtape."

Zachariah chuckled nervously. "I don't know what trick you're playing, but I am not stupid." Something shifted in Zachariah's light and suddenly both Sam and Dean slammed back against the wall. It was so quick, Piper didn't actually see them flying. She just saw the wall buckle just a little under their weight and she heard the thumps of their bodies against the wood. Piper threw her hands up to her mouth to keep silent as Zachariah walked leisurely toward the men with his hands clasped behind his back. He inspected them with disgust. His eyes slid past Sam and kept focused on Dean. "Must be some sort of trick, hmm?" He poked Dean in the chest and squinted. Dean glared at him, paralyzed and floating off the ground. "Thought you could scare me into submission? Maybe you aren't aware, but I am a primordial being. You cannot _trick_ me." The lights in the room flickered, and Zachariah started back. His gaze flew around the room and landed on Dean again, furious. Dean gave him a bitter look.

"Naw. Believe me, we're not this creative."

Zachariah spat out some nasty words and faster than the eye, drew a blade to press against Dean's throat. He poked it into Dean's skin and Dean hissed in pain as a golden light shined from the wound. Piper was helpless. She couldn't stop this and she was _just so afraid._

From behind Piper, a door opened and closed very softly. No one else noticed. Carefully, Piper turned to look. Relief spilled over her face at the sight of a crouched, familiar form. He raised a finger over his mouth to keep her quiet. Piper nodded and watched her Castle come closer and closer to Zachariah. A flash of light revealed the blade in his hand. He was just behind Zachariah now, and Dean was doing a very good job of distracting him with words Piper didn't really understand.

As Castiel raised his blade, Zachariah suddenly spun around and grabbed his raised arm, releasing his blade from Dean's throat. He twisted Castle's arm with a sick grin, and Castiel gasped in pain at the popping noise Zachariah made his elbow make. Fear stumbled around confusedly in Piper's chest and she trembled and tried very hard not to cry.

But now Zachariah was distracted. Dean threw his arm around Zachariah's neck and jerked him away from Castiel. Suddenly, Piper's feet were not caught up. She stumbled and then ran.

She curled behind on a couch and flinched when someone's large hand landed on her shoulder. But it was Sammy. She gave a shuddering exhale and clung to his coat as he lifted her off the ground and started to run for the back door.

"No one move!" Zachariah screeched. He raised a hand to do something awful to Sam and Piper as they ran, but Castiel knocked his hand down. Now there were two blades on the bad angel's throat. "Don't move," Castiel growled.

The last thing Piper saw before the door shut behind them was Dean lifting his blade and Zachariah shoving back against his captor. Piper's mouth dropped open in horror, but the door shut and Sam ran down through the hallway with Piper in his arms. He met some angel, but Piper pointed him out a moment before he rounded the corner and Sam dispatched him quickly.

A few minutes later, Sam burst through the back door of a kitchen and ran toward a familiar car. He'd put Piper down a little while before and held her hand tightly. "Quick, Piper."

"Quick, Piper."

"Castle and Dean, Sam! They're still-"

"I know," Sam interrupted. He smiled at her kindly. "They're coming. They'll be okay."

Piper shook her head. Zachariah was _much_ larger than Dean and Castiel. She said as much and Sam just waved her words away, but Piper could see he wasn't as sure as he said he was. Why did grown ups always lie like that?

Anxiously, they piled into the car. Sam threw himself into the driver's seat and told Piper to crouch down underneath the seats in the back. Piper did. It smelled like leather and dirt down there, but Sam said it was safer down there so she stayed.

A painfully long several minutes trickled by and Sam got increasingly fidgety. He cursed quietly. "Come on, Cass," he breathed. "Finish him, Dean."

A moment passed.

And, suddenly, a high-pitched whine stabbed into Piper's ears. She rammed her hands against her ears. All at once, the noise cut out. A window on the seventh floor exploded. Piper craned her neck up to see something falling. _Someone_ falling.

He slammed into the ground out of sight.

Dead. The bad guy was dead.

There was a long beat of complete silence as Piper tried to get her heart to stop attempting to run away.

Sam exhaled in relief and twisted to look at her. "You okay, Piper?"

Piper nodded shakily.

"Anything hurt?"

"No."

"Good," he breathed.

Less than a minute later, Dean and Castiel came barreling out of the back door. They stumbled into the car and Dean wrenched open the passenger side door. "Tell me you have Piper," he gasped.

"In the back,"

"Thank God." He flung himself into the seat and Castiel got into the seat next to her. He held in arm stiffly to her stomach. For the first time, true relief began to fill Piper's chest. She was safe. Her angels had saved her! As the car started up and ripped down the streets to get as far away from this place as possible, Piper crawled out from her spot on the floor and carefully curled up against Castle. He flinched when she touched his arm, and she pulled back. "Castel got a hurt?"

Castiel chuckled. His eyes darted around her face, as relieved she was, apparently. "It is just a little twist. I will be alright."

Piper nodded and settled into him again, careful to not touch the hurt spot.

As the city bled away to be replaced by Nevada's desert, Piper didn't know how long it had been since she'd been asleep, but there was something about the way the Impala drove that lulled her. She settled into the jeans of Castiel leg and watched Dean's flickering flames curiously. Her eyelids became heavier and heavier as Castiel brushed a strand of her hair out of her face. People could say what they liked, but Piper knew the truth. Her Castle and her Sam and her angel were the very best there could be.

* * *

AN: I had to drag this chapter out of my head by the pigtails while it screamed and threw one of those bratty grocery store kid tantrums.

*ahem* anyway, yeah, I was having a hard time. But it's here now, so hopefully you enjoyed it. If you're up to it, please review to appease my pouting muse.


	20. Wanted Dead Or Alive

20\. Wanted Dead Or Alive

Castiel dreamed.

An older brother grabbed his shoulder and held him over the edge of a great abyss. His feet dangled in the air and the sibling held his wings just a little too tightly. He winced and tried to shift, but the sibling just tightened his grip. _Look down, Castiel._

"I don't want to."

 _Look._

Castiel opened his eyes and stared down the deep dark hole that was the gate to Earth; a place he'd never been and wished to go. His heart thumped in his throat.

 _Don't ever leave home, Castiel._

Castiel looked up at the elder sibling. They were faceless and genderless. Indiscriminate and overwhelming, as they had chosen to be. Not all of his siblings chose to live that way. There were those like Castiel who prefer a semblance of a physical form. Being alive was confusing enough without having to recount how many faces you had.

"I wanna see though!"

Negativity shifted through the sibling and Castiel gasped in pain. He kicked his feet.

 _I could drop you. Then you would see the humans, wouldn't you?_

"No! No, don't!"

Castiel was younger than just about any of the other angels. One of the last created before Father had different ideas and began on the humans. _You are their inspiration, Castiel. Did you know that?_

Castiel couldn't keep his mouth shut for the life of him. Which was mostly the reason why he was constantly being dangled in such a way now.

"Hey!"

A voice cut through the sibling's fierce malevolence like a splash of water to the face. Castiel lifted his voice, which was small as it was, and the sibling covered his mouth. _Shut up,_ they hissed.

The voice came closer and a golden light bathed the endless dark of the field they were currently inside. The wind rushed over Castiel's face as Castiel's rescuer's wings beat. He landed a bit messily, tucked his various pairs of wings to his back, and his bare feet crunched on the grass as he approached. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Castiel was caught between being exceedingly grateful and exceedingly terrified. Gabriel was one of the oldest. An Archangel. Castiel had never spoken to him. Most Castiel's age never dared. Castiel wished to disappear beneath the weight of his gaze.

Meanwhile, the sibling holding Castiel over the expanse hesitated. Their will wavered. _Gabriel_ , they murmured submissively. _What brings you here?_

A snort. "Nothing you get to know about, sucker. Put the kid down."

 _Castiel is insolent._

"And you're pathetic, Zachariah. Put him down."

They bristled. Agonizingly slow, they lifted him and dropped him on the grass. Castiel stumbled and rolled his shoulders irritably. It was going to take ages to brush all of his feathers back into order.

They left, leaving just Gabriel and Castiel. Castiel looked up at him and squinted in his light. The wind from nowhere rustled the grass around them. There were no stars. No moon. No sun. The light of their Grace bathed the clearing in a blue and yellow light. Castiel wiped his nose and ducked his head respectfully as he'd been taught. "Thank you, sir."

Gabriel nodded. He carefully guided Castiel away from the gate. "S' nothing, kiddo." His eyes became misted with thought and frustration. "Anyone ever do something like that, you punch them right in the face, you got it? You don't have to let someone do that to you."

Castiel blinked. He slowly cocked his head. "... Punch?"

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah. Fist. Hard as you can right at their face. Or… you know, pick one of the faces. They'll probably be so shocked it'll give you a second to fly off." He frowned. "You _can_ fly, right?"

Castiel straightened, offended. "Course, I can. I'm not a fledgling!"

A laugh this time. "Bit small for an angel though, huh?"

"I… guess." Castiel licked his lips nervously. Had he spoken too abrasively?

Gabriel didn't give him a chance to respond. He winked and extended his wings. With two thrusts, he shot in the air. Seconds later, he gave an overly dramatic salute in Castiel's direction and flew straight down. Right through the gate. Into the abyss. Toward Earth.

Castiel fumbled forward to watch him disappear into the hole. Soon his light was but a spark and then that was gone as well.

"So this is what you dream about," said a voice. "Bit nostalgic for me…"

Castiel froze.

This wasn't what happened before.

It hit him suddenly that he was reliving a memory. Carefully, Castiel stood. As he did so, the scene flickered, and he nearly lost it. But the intruder in his head steadied the images and took his hand to stand him up completely.

Then Gabriel stepped back with his hands in the pockets of a pair of jeans. This was not the Gabriel from before. This Gabriel was tired and broken and angry and lonely and had probably lived too long. He smirked at Castiel.

"Forgot how adorable you were as a kid."

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't think of anything. Something tightened in his chest, but he couldn't remember why that was. Then it settled. This wasn't right. He didn't exist this way anymore.

A blink and Castiel was slightly taller than Gabriel. Castiel was wearing his trench coat out of habit.

"I remember this," Gabriel murmured thoughtfully. "Vaguely. Funny, We used to know each other much better than we do now…"

Castiel didn't waste time. He frowned. "Why are you in my head?" he asked warily. Any trust he'd felt for the Gabriel did not extend to these damaged versions of themselves. This was just the unfortunate truth. Neither of them were the beings they used to be.

Gabriel shrugged. "I needed to talk to you."

"You could have knocked on the door," Castiel grunted. They were staying at Bobby's again while they figured out their next move.

"Privately," Gabriel emphasized. "And… nothing is really private when there are other angels around."

Anything he said would be repeated to the Winchesters as soon as he woke up. Gabriel had to know this. Castiel squinted in suspicion but nodded slowly. "Alright. What is it?"

"I've heard rumors the angels have found a vessel for Michael."

Castiel stilled. He opened his mouth to ask who, but his memory answered for him. He groaned irritably. "The youngest Winchester. Adam."

"Fitting name, isn't it? They are gathering strength for a resurrection."

Great.

Well, Castiel would just have to get to Adam first.

"There's more."

Of course, there wouldn't just be one piece of horrible news.

"Zachariah is dead."

Oh.

Castiel opened his mouth, wondering how exactly to tell him…

But Gabriel kept going. "Course, that's not much of a loss. He was a dick. As we just witnessed here… But there was this weapon they had with them, at least that's what I've heard, and now who knows who…" He frowned, suddenly registering Castiel's discomfort. A second later, he got it. His face cleared. "You guys smoked them out, didn't you?" He grinned. "Dean finally putting those wings to use?"

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck. It was a very anxious, human movement; something he'd picked up from Sam. "Sort of."

"Uh. What does that mean?"

After Sam had fled the room with Piper in his arms, Castiel and Dean had held Zachariah (or really it was Dean holding him and Castiel pointing the sword). The angel shouted and cursed, and to be honest, sounded quite a lot like demons they'd caught; one moment promising anything and the next trying to rip their throats out with his hands. Dean had his arms wrapped around Zachariah from behind, gripping him tightly to his chest. "Do it, Cass!" he cried.

Cass flinched at the ringing edge Dean's voice took on in his earnestness. Pieces of a much more powerful voice gave his voice an echoing quality that Zachariah matched instantly. Dean wanted Cass to kill Zachariah.

This was not a problem.

Castiel pulled back his sword to strike as the room trembled. Walls cracked and plaster rained from the ceiling.

"WAIT!" Zachariah shrieked. "Please!" He blinked rapidly. "C-Castiel. My brother. We were friends. Remember? Y-you wouldn't!"

"Don't listen to him, Cas," Dean grunted. His eyes flashed with light.

Castiel pulled back in disgust. Did this creature really think there had _ever_ been some sort of companionship between them? Before Castiel had been put in charge of him, Zechariah had made it very clear that he thought less of Castiel than dung stuck on the bottom of his shoe. And after Castiel was promoted, he'd only just barely restrained his ire.

Castiel shook his head. "You are pitiful," he said sadly. Just as he plunged the blade toward his chest, Zachariah managed to force Dean's arms apart. Zachariah ducked, and suddenly it was Dean behind the blade, not their enemy. However, Dean caught Castiel's blade's edge in his hand to keep it from stabbing into him with a hiss of pain. Castiel couldn't focus on him right now. Horrified, Castiel pulled back his blade and ran after Zachariah, who was about to spread his wings. Dean and Castiel grabbed onto him at the last instant and Zachariah slammed Castiel backward. Cass was aware of weightlessness, and then he crushed against glass that broke like a tissue beneath him.

His heart plunged into his toes. Wildly, he flung out a hand to grab for something. Anything _._ There was nothing but air.

The world was spinning and smelled like copper. Castiel twisted.

And a white-hot pain erupted up his arm from his shoulder.

Someone had clamped down on him. One hand on the elbow and another on his shoulder. Castiel's legs kicked as he tried to find purchase on the wall. He couldn't move his head without sending shots of agony up his arm again, but Castiel didn't need to look to know that it was Dean who had gripped him by the shoulder. Relief flowed through Castiel. He reached wildly up to grab onto the windowsill. Panting, he lifted himself as Dean did the same. Up and out of danger.

"Cas, dude, you're like a friggin boulder," Dean grunted. They tugged and pulled and grabbed until finally, _finally_ , Castiel rolled back into the room. His entire arm rippled in pain and he screwed his eyes shut. If he didn't move at all, maybe it would hurt less.

Suddenly, he jerked himself upright. Where was Zachariah?

"Over there," Dean muttered.

Zachariah wasn't dead. His teeth were stained red, and he was pinned to the wall next to the window by an angel's blade. Castiel blinked at this sight through bloodied eyelashes. How Dean managed that was beyond him. The angel breathed raggedly and furiously, his arm imprisoned by the blade buried into the wall like a butterfly's wing on a cork board. How did Dean manage to imprison him and still catch Castiel before he fell?

It occurred to Castiel that he, for one of the first times, was thinking in an entirely human way. Time wasn't really relevant when an angel didn't want it to be.

They killed Zechariah grimly and quickly as he screamed hate and disgust. His dead weight toppled sideways and out of the window, Castiel had broken just moments before. Neither of them tried to catch his body.

Dean looked down the building with a carefully blank expression. He could see it now of course. He could see what happened when someone died.

That was not something Castiel missed about being an angel.

Gabriel was still looking at Castiel, expecting an answer. "He _llloo_? Earth to Castiel."

Castiel blinked away his memories. "Dean is fine. He's… not normal, per se, but he is as good as can be expected of someone as stubborn as he."  
Gabriel nodded slowly. "And by 'not normal', you mean for a _human_ or for a-?"

"For an angel," Castiel interrupted. "He's not a normal angel."

"How so?"

Why was he bothering to tell Gabriel any of this? It was unlikely the archangel even cared. But it was too late to stop now. "He has negligible control over his Grace. Even slight irritation has drastic effects." Castiel shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Like… incinerating entire rooms."

Gabriel blinked rapidly. "Okay. Wow. And how exactly are you fixing this?"

Of course. Always the pompous one, wasn't he? Castiel pursed his lips. "I can only do so much, Gabriel. If I make a wrong move… I… I'm _mortal_."

"He would kill you."

"Yes. Sam was lucky enough to be ingrained into his every instinct. It is unlikely that any sort of protection would ever extend to myself." He was not deluded. Sam always was the priority in Dean's mind.

This was certainly a knotty problem. There was no way to _really_ teach Dean without dying or having Castiel's eyes burnt from his skull. Castiel could only help him restrain the effects of his irritated Grace and explain experiences verbally. He could give him knowledge, but not experience.

Gabriel chewed the inside of his cheek. "There's no way he'd ever trust me to help him."

"It would take a miracle," Castiel muttered.

They both sighed, neither having an answer. Finally, Gabriel shrugged. "For now, you're the best he's got."

"Yes."

The Heavenly field was growing brown and washed out the longer they stood in the memory. "Keep watching that weapon and be on the lookout for a resurrection. And thank you for killing an idiot." All at once, Gabriel began to walk away. "I'll be dropping by later. Don't try to kill me maybe?"

A small smile skirted Castiel's lips. "No promises."

Gabriel snickered.

The scene melted away.

And Castiel opened his eyes to a popcorn ceiling. There was a funny brown stain in the shape of a cat just above him.

He breathed.

Sometimes just breathing was enough. It was all he could fit in his clouded head.

He clenched a fist, interested by the sensation. Waking up slowly was a fascinating experience. Piece by piece, he'd drop down into himself. With every breath, more clarity. He needed to talk to Sam and Dean about Gabriel's messages. One: the angels were resurrecting Adam. Two: the angels thought Piper was a weapon.

Think of that. A little girl as a weapon.

What did they want her to do?

And speaking of…

A little gray eye peeked through the crack of his mostly closed door. He blinked and sat up, running a hand through his hair. A shot of pain traveled down to his fingertips and he tried to not flinch too hard and hurt it more. What time was it? "Hello, Piper," he croaked. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and took a drink from a water bottle he had sitting on the floor. His toes curled on the cold hardwood floors.

Piper slipped a hand through the crack and opened the door wider. Her hair was a mess, and she was wearing one of Sam's old t-shirts like a dress. They probably should figure out how to care for this funny little creature... "Bobby said to get your," She dropped her voice into a tiny whisper. " _ass_ up."

Castiel choked on his water. He guessed he couldn't expect any less than profanity from the old man. "Tell him I'm coming."

Piper nodded quickly with a smile and padded off on her bare feet. From across the house, he could hear her murmuring voice. This house was so accustomed to hearing the low rumblings of male voices, the sound of a little girl's was very off putting. Her voice echoed strangely. _Castle says he's coming. Where's Dean and Sam, Bobby?_

Bobby grumbled something in response, but his voice was not clear enough to understand.

Since Dean wasn't sleeping, Castiel could guess he'd wandered off in boredom. Perhaps Sam went with him.

Standing, Castiel rubbed an eye with the base of his palm and relished his moment of clarity. Sometimes the fog (or whatever it was) was all consuming. And some days, at random, he was granted a respite.

He suddenly wanted to do as much as possible before the weight returned, and he thought too much about things he didn't like to consider.

With a yawn, Castiel dressed and made his way downstairs to an unusual sight. Normally, at this hour (seven thirty) Bobby was asleep at his desk with a bottle of liquor in hand and a book against his face.

Piper and Bobby were seated opposite at the kitchen table and Piper poured cereal into Bobby's bowl while Bobby watched her with begrudging amusement. Piper blew a strand of her hair out of her eyes and struggled to lift the milk.

"I got it, kid," Bobby said, taking it from her gently. "If yer gonna make me eat, I'd rather eat without havin you break yer arms."

Piper shrugged and plopped down in her seat to eat her own cereal. Where had they even gotten breakfast food? He shifted closer, a bit unsure whether or not to interrupt them. However, Piper caught his movement and wiped her head around with a grin. "Castle!"

"His name's Cas-ti-el, Piper," Bobby corrected.

Piper wrinkled her nose. "Cas-teal."

Bobby sighed and Castiel pulled up a chair to sit next to them. He smiled. "I don't mind it, Bobby." And then to Piper, "You can call me Castle if you like."

She smiled and put a bowl in front of him.

Apparently, Cass was going to eat breakfast for once.

A companionable silence set over the three of them as they ate. Piper babbled on occasion and it was nice. Very nice. To forget for a moment all of the horrible things that were going on outside of this little kitchen. Castiel wished there were more people in the world who could make you forget things like the apocalypse when they were around. Piper was quite excellent at this.

What on earth were they going to do with her? They couldn't send her off some place without angels or demons getting to her. So she needed to stay with them. Protected. But on the other hand, they did not exactly lead the healthiest lifestyle. Honestly, they spent more time on an adrenaline high than off one. They were not the sort of people equipped to take care of a seven-year-old child.

Then again, they weren't equipped to do a lot of things. 'Winging it' as Dean would say, was one of their only consistent mode of operation.

Either way, at the moment, Piper was over joyed to be back with her 'angels'.

And there was that to consider as well. How did Piper know Dean was an angel?

Taking a final bite, Castiel stirred his spoon in the slightly blue tinged milk (he'd been eating Lucky Charms) and cocked his head at the little red haired girl currently using her hands to lift the bowl and drink up the excess milk.

"Piper?" he asked carefully.

Piper's eyes met his. She wiped the milk from her mouth with a freckled arm.

There was no way to pose this well. "What do you see when you look at angels?"

Bobby grunted and shot him a glare. Whatever.

Piper considered his question cordially and licked her spoon. "They're bright and glowy in their chests."

Castiel nodded. "And?"

Piper rolled her eyes. "And they have _wings_ , silly!"

Wings. She could see their wings. Which probably meant she could hear their true voices as well. Normally, it would be impossible for a mortal to do such things. But sometimes there were... anomalies. This still did not answer how that could be used as a weapon. Castiel knew there were rumors that people like Piper could be used against angels, but what exactly that entailed was a mystery. He'd need to research. He and Sam would get on it once Sam returned

And on that note, where were Sam and Dean? He said as much and received shrugs in response.

"Out of a beer run," Bobby muttered. He stabbed his Lucky Charms a bit more aggressively than was probably necessary. "Apparently."

* * *

 ** _AN: I'm sorry! I'm back! This is the LONGest I have managed to get through a story without hitting a wall. I usually get to a slowing down motivational swing thing at around 70 pages and this time it was at around 230 pages. That's insane. I love it. Anyway, please review. I'm still writing, but updates may be a bit slower since updates have caught up with my writing._**


	21. Unsteady

21\. Unsteady

"Dean. The, uh, the gas station. You passed it."

"I know."

Sam cocked his head, calculating quickly. His brother was once more at the wheel. Eyes steady on the road. Sam shifted in his seat and chewed his lip.

'Concern' did not even remotely breach Sam's emotions regarding Dean. He wasn't just concerned. He was terrified. For Dean. About whatever was going on in his head.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're not my mom, Sammy."

A snort. "Look, if you're going to read my mind, you could at least tell me what _you're_ thinking. It's only fair."

Dean had been startled thus far every time anyone called him out on this particular ability. But this time, he just huffed.

Silence reigned free.

Okay, Sam really did need to know where they were going. "Dean-"

"You try to argue with me, man, and I swear I will leave you here too."

Sam blinked. "What?" He didn't understand. Why weren't they turning around? Where was Dean going? "Dean, what are you talking about?"

For a long moment, it looked like Dean wasn't going to tell him. He chewed his words repeatedly before saying them in a low voice. "We're leaving."

Sam frowned. "Um, why? Cass and Bobby and Piper are waiting for us. Dean. _Dean,_ listen to me!"

Dean's gaze snapped to Sam, and Sam suppressed a shiver. There was a very real, raw power hiding behind those eyes. "What?"

"We can't just abandon them. What will Cass think?"

Dean's jaw tightened. "Cass is better without us."

"What! No, he's not!" How could Dean even think that? "Dean, he _needs you._ "

A shake of the head. "No. No, Sam. Look, I-I can see inside him. There's something…" Dean licked his lips nervously. "There's something wrong in there. And I think I make it worse."

Sam highly doubted that. He shifted in his seat so he faced Dean. How on earth could he possibly convince Dean how incorrect he was?

Dean was right in one aspect, however. There was something wrong with Castiel. Something was broken and twisted just a bit. Sam could see it in Cass's face and in his eyes sometimes. He'd been… a bit preoccupied to really address the issue, Sam thought guiltily.

Sam asked him what he was thinking about once when Castiel was in one of his 'moods' and got a blank stare in response. "Too much," he'd exhaled raggedly. "Is there a way to turn down your thoughts?"

Sam's mouth had dropped open slightly. He'd had no idea what to say. It wasn't really the words that startled him. It was the utter emptiness in Castiel's eyes as he said them. Beyond grief. Beyond pain. Just… numbness.

That was not normal. It went beyond the angel's mourning over his lost Grace and newly gained mortality. He wasn't just a human. He was a broken one.

And Sam had been quietly concerned for weeks and weeks. But there'd been hunt after hunt and the oncoming apocalypse and then Dean was missing and then Dean was an angel and then Piper needed their help and… Sam just hadn't had the time to do anything about Cass.

Apparently, Sam wasn't the only one who'd noticed something was up with their friend.

"I can't keep doing _this_ to him," Dean gestured vaguely at himself. "I… I'm a reminder, Sam. Of what he doesn't get to have. And that's just… it's cruel."

Sam sighed. Running away was not the answer. It could only make things worse. Didn't Dean understand? Castiel had no one on this entire planet. He was _completely_ alone but for Sam and Dean and Bobby and, recently, Piper. They couldn't abandon him.

"He'll be safer if we just go our own way. You didn't see what went down in that fight with Zachariah." Dean shuddered. "He nearly died."

This was not logical at all. "Dude, we almost die every day of the week. You can't-"

"If you _did_ die. Either of you, it would be on me."

"That's not fair and you know it. Me and Cass can take care of ourselves."

Dean nodded but ended up shaking his head instead. "But it would be my fault because I should be able to save you. Isn't that the whole friggin point of having Grace?"

Sam groaned frustratedly. "I don't know the whole point, Dean! But it doesn't matter! What does matter is that you are leaving behind our best friend and a child who _needs_ our protection, _your_ protection because you're _scared._ " That was the root of it, and Sam knew he'd been correctly reading his brother when Dean abruptly stopped the car in the middle of the empty highway and jabbed a finger into Sam's chest.

"I'm not _scared_ of anything."

Sam said nothing. He glanced down pointedly at Dean's finger, which was noticeably trembling.

"Screw you," Dean spat. He shoved open the car door and slammed it shut behind him so hard Sam flinched.

Dean's voice was muffled outside.

" _What the heck do you want me to do?!"_ he shouted at the sky. Sam couldn't tell if he was talking to Sam or someone else or no one at all.

" _We're falling apart down here, you son of a-"_

Sam opened his door, and Dean kept shouting. He kicked a rock on the street, and it flew out of sight faster than Sam's eye could track. This just pissed Dean off more. "Dean-" he tried to protest, but Dean refused to hear him and paced heatedly up and down the length of the car.

It was only when thunder grumbled directly above them that Dean finally froze. His eyes zipped up to the black clouds forming above them and then down to meet Sam's gaze. Sam wasn't stupid. He was realistic. It was well within Dean's abilities to accidentally kill Sam.

And so it was unsurprising that Sam was prepared right then to run as far as possible if Dean ended up exploding again. It was nothing against his brother.

Dean's eyes went through a file of quiet emotions, and Sam wondered if he could understand what Sam was thinking about. Probably. Sam hoped he understood. And he hoped Dean knew he wanted to be around Dean just the same. Even if it meant a little duck-and-cover every so often.

Dean cocked his head slowly. The movement reminded Sam instantly of Castiel. The old Castiel who was still so very baffled by human emotions.

Dean and Castiel were both so very different, but in some ways, they were very similar. Both were oblivious when it came to emotions and normal reasoning. Their minds just didn't work the way Sam, or many other people, did.

Carefully, Dean forced himself to relax. No words passed between them as the storm dissipated and the electricity fled from the air. After a long, anxious moment, Dean's shoulders slumped, and he dropped his head to rest on top of his arms on the Impala's roof. "Crap, Sammy," he whispered into his arms. "What am I doing?"

Sam said nothing. There weren't words to fix this.

In the end, it wasn't Sam who ended the strange stalemate. It was Dean's phone.

It jittered on the dashboard of the car. Dean lifted his head to look at Sam, who was leaning over the top of the Impala much like Dean was, watching his big brother.

"You gonna get that?" Sam said quietly. After so much shouting, speaking softly seemed to be the only way to mend the charged air.

Dean shifted his weight, considering. He nodded, pulled open the door, and answered the phone. The door shut as he lifted it to his ear. His face transformed as he attempted to sound like he hadn't been falling into pieces just a moment before (and make no mistake, Sam knew when his brother was cracking). "Hey, Cass. What's up?"

Sam waited anxiously. Listening to the one-sided conversation.

Slowly, Dean's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

A reply.

"But would Adam even say yes?"

Adam? Their half-brother Adam? What about him? Another pause. And then, "Uh, huh. Yeah, I guess that's true."

A nod.

"We're…" Dean cleared his throat. "We're on our way back now. You can tell us all about it then." He smiled briefly. "Yeah, I'm fine. We're cool. Everything's cool. How's your shoulder?"

Whatever reply Castiel made was obviously not good enough because Dean gave Sam an eye roll and an unimpressed, _is this guy serious_ look. "Uh huh. I highly doubt that. Get Bobby to wrap it if you can't. Or just wait till we get home and-" Dean sighed at Castiel's interruption. "Don't argue with me, man. I ain't got the time." A smile and a soft chuckle. "Yeah, okay."

A moment later, Dean hung up and without ado, got back into the driver's seat. Sam followed suit. For a second, they just sat there. Waiting.

"So?" Sam said quietly.

Dean glanced at him. He chewed the inside of his lip and nodded sharply.

Turning the Impala around, they set a course for Bobby's.

Neither of them remembered to get anything from the gas station.

* * *

AN: Sorry, this is so short, but I wanted to give y ou guys _something a_ nd I've been super busy lately :( Please leave a review right down there if you are so inclined.


	22. Riptide

22\. Riptide

Bobby stared with a creased brow at the funny little creature beneath his desk. It had been four days since she'd taken residence in the house, and he still wasn't sure exactly what to do with her. He and Castiel had dug up some of Sam and Dean's old clothes and found a few outfits to fit her. It was a start. Now that Gabriel had told them about Heaven's plans, the three boys had come and gone searching for Adam. Adam, John's third son whose existence all of the Winchesters neglected to mention. Bobby was still a bit sour about that.

He'd opened up a book and sat down at his desk less than ten minutes ago, only to feel a little squirming thing wedge herself in the crawl space beneath the desk. She smiled up at him with these long eyelashes, and, doggone it, he couldn't tell her git.

So here he was now, reading while Piper sang softly. She used his foot as a hill to walk her playthings across. Those playthings were currently a spoon and a pencil.

He kept his foot very still and turned the old pages of his book slowly. What on earth were they doing with a kid in this house?

Bobby knew how to deal with little boys. He'd been left with Sam and Dean for weeks when they were younger. Little girls were an entirely different catch of fish. Or at least, he thought so.

"Mr. Bobby?" she asked, her song ending suddenly.

Bobby leaned back slightly to catch a look at her face beneath the desk. The chair protested loudly. "Jus' call me Bobby, kid. I told you."

"Bobby, you did your star wrong."

Bobby frowned. Had he heard her correctly? "Ma what now?"

"Your star." She pointed up at the bottom of the desk. "It's wrong-ish."

Curious, Bobby grunted and got down on his knees to see what exactly it was she was talking about. Sure enough, under the desk was a star drawn in black sharpie. A devil's trap, to be precise.

And Piper was correct. The trap was drawn incorrectly. He'd done it as a younger man in hope to keep the nasty things out of his desk drawers. At the time, he'd been drawing in every space available, but he'd only known devil's traps in a cursory sort of way. It made sense that he would mess up a few.

None of this had him astonished. The fact that _Piper_ had spotted the slight inconsistency, on the other hand, had him looking at her in a new light. "Where the heck did ya learn to draw a devil's trap?"

Piper cocked her head, confused. It took Bobby a moment to realize what was wrong. She didn't know the name. "The star thingy. This 'ere." He tapped it. Her eyes lit up.

"Castle gave me a star!" She reached into her overalls and pulled out a necklace he'd yet to see (Piper had taken a bath since she'd arrived, but he'd let her do that on her own after she insisted she was old enough). She'd kept it under her clothes this entire time. Smart little twiggler. "He said it protects me from the demons."

Bobby nodded seriously. He should have guessed the former angel would have sent her out with some kind of protection. Especially seeing how attached to her he'd become. Not to mention he was the paranoid type. Honestly, that wasn't really a bad thing in this line of work. "These stars, if ya can get a demon to touch one or step inside, they'll get stuck and they ain't getting out 'til something breaks the drawing. Then you can send that black-eyed sucker straight back to Hell. Ya get it?"

Piper blinked wide eyes. "I… I think so."

"Good." Bobby cocked his head. If she'd spotted that small difference based on her memory of the little necklace, perhaps she had a knack for this sort of thing. "Can you draw that without looking?"

Piper nodded. She traced it on the dusty wall of the desk with her finger perfectly. Quickly, too.

Sheesh. It had taken Bobby ages to get the full design perfectly. You could just draw a star, of course, but Piper drew each line like ribbons in front and behind each other just as they were meant to be drawn, not to mention including the circle around it all.

With both Heaven and Hell gunning for her, you couldn't be too safe.

Bobby groped for a pencil and his notebook on the desk above him. "Alright, kid. Ya wanna learn some more tricks?"

Piper smiled and nodded.

When Sam walked in on them an hour later, they were surrounded by dozens of loose notebook paper bunches of symbols scribbled on them.

Sam stepped over the papers carefully and frowned at the seemingly empty room. Then he heard their voices. Low and serious.

"Now when you use this one, ya gotta make sure Dean isn't anywhere near."

"Cause it'll suck him up too?"

"Exactly."

A smile curved Sam's lips. There was a weight on his shoulders that lessened at this sight. He'd been thinking a lot lately, and he didn't like the conclusions he'd come to. The apocalypse was never going to end well. They were no closer to finding Adam than they'd been a week ago, and they couldn't run from Heaven and Hell forever. Meanwhile, Dean was a powder keg ready to explode and Cass… Sam didn't know what to do about Cass.

And here Bobby was under a desk teaching a six-year-old how to draw magic sigils. Quietly, Sam walked up to the desk and leaned over it to look down at them. He shifted a book and a bottle of ink to place his hands flat on the surface. "Whatcha up to?"

Bobby jumped. He was halfway beneath his desk and Piper was tucked entirely inside. He glared up at him. "Watcha gaping at, boy? You look like a fish."

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled at Piper. She smiled back and waved at him shyly. "Hello, Sammy."

" _Sammy_ , is it?"

"Dean calls you Sammy in his other voice."

Sam blinked. "Uh-"

"In my _what_ voice?" said a voice behind Sam. He'd followed Sam out of the car at a slower pace. Dean set down _seven_ packs of beer on the table as Sam grasped Bobby's hand and stood him up. As soon as Bobby was out of the way, Piper darted out and threw herself into Dean. "You're home! You were gone _forever_!"

"It's only been a few hours, kiddo." Dean had stiffened reflexively at the embrace at first, but then he relaxed into a small smile. He ran a hand through her hair. Just as quickly as she'd come, Piper darted out of the room. To find Cass, Sam guessed.

Sam raised an eyebrow at the packs of beer, and Dean grinned. "Quantity, Sammy. That's the key."

Wonderful. Sam wrinkled his nose. "Dean, I really don't think that's a good-"

"It's a _wonderful_ idea." To be honest, Sam hadn't seen Dean this excited about something in… much too long. Dean gestured as he continued. "Remember when we were fighting War in the doosh car? Right? So, Cass, he said if he was an angel it would have taken an entire liquor store or so to get him drunk. And I'm thinking-"

"You're _not_ thinking. Where did you even get all of that? You bought _one_ pack of beer."

This time Dean skipped over the pages scattered on the floor and pointed excitedly at both of them. "Cass taught me a new thing. Watch. Are you watching? Watch this."

He pointed a finger gun at one of the boxes, took a breath, and made some sort of gun noise (blicka-pow). Sam blinked and instead of seven boxes, there were now nine. Huh. Well, at least he wasn't exploding everything.

And not to mention, he was remarkably upbeat about this. Sam would have liked to think Dean was coming around to accepting this. He found it more likely that, per usual, Dean was pretending everything was fine. Which was just unhealthy.

It was now that Cass entered the room. Piper was happily balanced on his shoulders, hands on top of his head and her fingers deep in his curls. His smile was fleeting but genuine. "I am rather certain this is not the intended purpose of that particular ability," he suggested dryly.

Dean smirked and pointed his finger gun at the beers once more. "Well, you're not wrong." A fake 'shot' later and seven of the boxes disappeared. The last one flickered and suddenly beer was spilling everywhere.

"Dean!"

"Sorry!"

They scrambled to save papers and sop up the mess before it damaged anything. "Daggonit, Dean," Bobby grumbled. "My floors are going to be sticky for months."

"Your floors were already sticky, Bobby-"

"You're not helping your case here, Dean," Sam grunted.

It was decided after that that Dean if he was going to purposefully 'try anything', would be doing it outside. Dean rolled his eyes but hadn't put up a fight. Something about the exploding pack had darkened his mood. Dean was never exactly an emotionally steady person, especially lately, and Sam could already sense he was coming down from whatever high he'd been on.

A pissed off, grumpy Dean had been irritating before. Now it was a hazard.

Castiel, taking Piper off of his shoulders, followed Dean out of the room when he left. Sam had no idea if that was a good thing or not, but he preferred a Castiel that wasn't staring blankly, and he, overall, preferred a Dean with Castiel.

Now that the excitement was over with, Sam sat down a bit heavily in an old armchair and sighed tiredly. Bobby went back to his desk and his book, and Piper took a pencil and a spoon and a mythical medallion and began to play across the room. Sam considered her with pursed lips. She was unusually independent for her age. The times he had been around her, she'd mostly consented to play loudly by herself or with Castiel, who obliged confusedly but willingly.

Sam's eyes crawled off of her to Bobby, who stretched his back in the desk chair. "Any news oan Adam?" Bobby asked without looking up.

Sam shook his head. "All records of his burial have been stolen. Probably the angels. They know we'll be looking for him." The mention of this problem killed what little lightening Sam had felt. Unless they found Adam, which, let's be real, they were not going to find him, he would become Michael's vessel. Lucifer would continue circling, and soon enough his patience with Sam would run thin. He needed a vessel. A true vessel like Sam Winchester. He'd eventually find Sam and maybe it would take years, but eventually, Lucifer would be wearing Sam. It was all… destined. Unavoidable.

Sam clenched his jaw and banished such thoughts. Cass and Dean were emotionally screwed up already. Sam needed to be the positive one. He needed to keep them floating above the waters.

Bobby grunted in response and licked this thumb to turn a page.

It had occurred to Sam repeatedly since he'd found out what Lucifer intended for him that there was an option none of them had spoken about.

"What do you…" Sam cleared his throat. "What do you think would happen if I… if I said yes?"

Bobby's gaze jerked up from his page and pinned Sam to his chair like a bug on a cork board. His voice was deadly serious. "That asshole will use you to end the whole friggin world, you idjut."

Sam opened his mouth, hesitated, and then nodded. "We're running out of options, Bobby," he said softly. "If we could figure out a way to open the cage again, I could- I could jump in with him. It… makes sense."

Sam could see Bobby's jaw tightening, but he said nothing, which meant he was thinking. Considering. This was good. His eyes, which had been light with easy happiness teaching Piper, were now clouded. It was painful. "Sam," he finally exhaled. His shoulders slumped. "You would be stuck there. For eternity."

Sam swallowed. "Yeah. I know. But if I say yes-"

Abruptly, the front door opened. A second later, Dean stormed into the room. He walked directly up to Sam, and Sam was once again reminded that secrets were much more difficult to keep from his brother. "You're talking about saying yes."

"I-"

Dean glared at him. "You know how _stupid_ that is? How monumentally _idiotic_ the thought could possibly be!"

Sam didn't know how Dean knew, but he also knew sometimes it was better to not try to understand.

Sam stood, hands raised placatingly. "I could throw him into the cage, Dean!"

Dean let out a harsh laugh as Castiel entered the room quietly. "He's an _archangel_ , Sam! You think you're strong enough to face him! What? You'll hop up on demon blood-"

"I never said-"

"All those tricks you did when you were high on black-eyed freak juice? Sam, _I_ could do those in my sleep and he's like a gazillion times more powerful than I'd ever be! Demons are no friggin challenge for an angel and humans are like bugs on their windshields, man!"

Sam clenched his fists at his sides. "When you come up with a better idea-"

" _Stop!"_

Piper, all at once, was between them, pushing the two men back. Sam hadn't realized how close he'd gotten to Dean. In shock, he obeyed and took a step back.

On another note, he thought distractedly, Dean was pissed and not exploding anything, which had to be a good thing.

Dean glared at him, but his gaze softened when he looked down at Piper. "I wasn't going to hurt him," he growled softly to her. Sam wasn't sure if he was talking more to Piper or to himself.

Piper sniffed. Her eyes were sparkling. "You look scary when you're mad."

Guilt slipped fingers into Sam's ribs. He scrubbed his face roughly. What kind of people were they to argue like that in front of a kid? A _six-year-old._

He met Castiel's eyes across the room. Cass didn't seem to have any sort of response. Sam had been watching him carefully lately. Today was an on and off sort of day with him. He was buried too deep at the moment to have fully registered their argument anyway.

 _We need to help him._ Sam thought.

"Don't fight," Piper told them sternly. "Everyone is fighting."

This was a surprisingly enlightening statement. Sam stared down at her. He touched her cheek gently. "You're right," he croaked.

And she was.

They would argue elsewhere from now on, Sam decided quickly.

They backed down. After that, any anger they felt had deflated into exhaustion. As it often did.

Dean's shoulders slumped. "Don't do anything stupid. Please."

Dean never said please.

Sam licked dry lips and nodded hesitatingly. For now, he would do nothing. For now.

* * *

It is a little-known fact that an angel cannot break a promise. And thus, they do their best to stick to 'yes or no' answers and avoid vows altogether.

So, when Sam asked him, out of habit, Castiel hesitated.

"Promise you'll stop," Sam said. It had been a day since Sam and Dean had argued. They, like usual, were pretending they hadn't argued at all.

Castiel looked up at him and squinted suspiciously. This only prompted a large sigh on Sam's part. "I _know_. I know what you're doing with that thing."

Oh.

 _Oh._

Nervousness clenched in Cass's chest. He twisted the needle in his hand slowly and chewed his lip. "I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was robotic.

This only prompted a dismissive snort. "Don't give me that. Look at your fingers, Cass. And if you tell me those were all made on accident, I swear to gods-"

"I'm fine, Sam," he snapped. He didn't have a problem. It was just a habit. A little thing to make the fog on his body ease back. It kept him sharp and rooted on bad days. Days like this. They were tiny pricks, and it wasn't harming anyone, least of all Castiel.

He looked dully at Sam, who clenched his jaw anxiously. He held out a hand. "Give it to me, Cas."

"No."

"Please."

Castiel stood suddenly and slid the sewing needle into his coat pocket. He did not need an oversized, flannel-wearing, pain in the behind telling him what to do. He glared up at Sam. But anger dribbled away into numbness within a few seconds. He backed down and stuck to staring at a loose thread on Sam's shirt. "Please leave me be"

This time Sam shook his head, he grabbed one of his shoulders and squeezed gently. A ghost of a smile. "You're not as mysterious as you think, Cas. I get it. I understand how it is sometimes."

Did he? Did he know what it was like to be pressed into the earth by a weight that came from nowhere and everywhere at once? Did he know what it was like to have to force your eyes open every time you blinked? Did he know what it was like to wonder why you even _bothered_?

 _Yes,_ said a small voice within. Sam did know.

Cass shifted his weight, and his resolve, like so many other things of late, crumbled. "Alright," he whispered. He stuck his hand in his pocket and ran his fingertips over the sharp edge one last time. His fingers and his palm were covered in little marks and bruises that wouldn't heal. Not fast enough.

Sam relaxed and nodded. "Thank you."

But first. Castiel looked his friend in the eye with a surge of desperation mixed with quite a large amount of embarrassment. "Just… don't, um," He cleared his throat, "Promise me you won't tell, er, Dean." It would break Dean. It would break _Cass_ to see Dean's disappointment.

Sam hesitated. He held out a hand for the needle. A needle that was crusted over with blood dried and rewetted time and again. "I won't. But if you try to pull something like this..."

Castiel nodded and handed him the needle. It was so very tiny in Sam's hand. Insignificant.

"Promise you won't do this again."

"I... I promise."

Sam smiled a bit and pocketed the needle. "Good."

Just then, Dean barged into the kitchen with Piper just behind him, giggling. "Yo suckers! Your fearless leader has returned. With _sustenance_!"

They both rolled their eyes.

The day moved on. Sam never brought up the instance and Castiel kept quiet as well.

In the end, it hadn't mattered whether he was an angel or not. He kept his promise. As difficult as it was. The Winchesters deserved that much.

* * *

AN: WOAH what do you know? I'm still alive! Graduation craziness finally calmed down and I had a few hours to write (woohoo!). Hope you enjoyed this bit. The story is going to pick up some more in the next chapter, so I'm super excited about that.

Oh, also, I just realized there are some inconsistencies in this story (aka. I forgot). Like, the fact that Bobby is supposed to be in a wheelchair right now? Uh. Yeah. So I'm just going with Bobby not being in a wheelchair in this AU version cause I don't feel like changing it. Also, I really don't like writing episodes that actually happened in the show. I get bored, lol. So keep in mind that while the episodes leading up to the finale are happening, I'm only going to mention them instead of rewriting them unless its vital (like the finale and the episode before it and stuff). So yeah. Anyway, please **_review_ ** down in that little box just below this. It will make my day to hear what you're thinking.


	23. Reaper

23\. Reaper

Gabriel was a messenger. It was in his blood. He was not built for war. Not for arguments and fighting and killing.

He just wanted to tell people what they needed to hear.

A long time ago, it had been his father's messages he'd delivered.

Now, (although he did occasionally get some sort of instruction) he mostly delivered his own messages.

They usually said something like, _you, sir, are a royal pain, get your head out of your backside._ And these messages more often than not were conveyed, eh, how could he put it… _non-verbally._ He liked to think of himself as the king of ironic punishments.

But with the advent of the apocalypse and the whole deal with Dean Winchester and _dad showing up thank you,_ he had been a bit too busy to spend time messing with people.

See, he'd come up with a plan. Course, it was not a very good one. But it was obviously going to be better than any plan the Winchesters had. Cause... well, they were the _Winchesters._

"So you're saying the horsemen's rings are what? A gateway?" Dean crossed his arms, leaning against a post on Bobby's porch. Gabriel had invited himself inside, instantly burning out the angel-resistant sigils, but he had been unceremoniously pushed out the front door by the current resident angel. Gabriel had jolted a bit in shock at the sight of him. Dean didn't have the glow of a normal angel (the last time he'd seen him, he'd hardly had a much of a glow at all). Instead of a blue light, it was a warm yellow and orange. Not unlike himself, Gabriel thought privately. Perhaps it was the infusion of a human soul and angel grace. Castiel had said Dean's Grace was being especially volatile. Dean, technically, was a nephilim, Gabriel realized. But given that he'd been created this way by the big man himself, Gabriel didn't think Dean counted as an abomination. Was he more powerful than an ordinary angel? He did push Gabriel around with more ease than the others might… If he'd tried, Gabriel figured he could overpower Dean. However, there were more important things to do.

At the moment, it was just Dean and Gabriel on the porch. Sam, though, was on his way down the stairs and little Cassie was close behind him. Gabriel nodded. "You've been taking out the horsemen. Tell me you didn't throw away the rings."

Dean shook his head. "We're not stupid."

"How many do you have?"

"War, Famine, Plague."

Gabriel smirked. Good. He could work with that. Death had already been raised anyway. Behind Dean, the screen door creaked open and Sam ducked outside. Gabriel looked up at him. "Samuel! As gigantic as usual, I see."

Sam's eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms just as Dean had. "What's he doing here?"

"Dick says he has a plan."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Y'all aren't still salty are ya?"

They both glowered at him, silent.

Gabriel cleared his throat. "Okay... apparently so."

"You killed Dean like a zillion times," Sam grunted. "Sorry if I'm not exactly buying the sudden change in heart."

Yeah. Gabriel couldn't really expect that. He gave Sam a nasty face. "I didn't have a 'change of heart'," he spat. "I just have more information than I used to. But that is _beside the point._ If you can get Death's ring, you can open the door to the cage, throw my insane brother in and get rid of the key."

The Winchester brothers glanced at each other. Dean gave a small shrug. He chewed his lip. "Alright. That's fine. But how exactly are we supposed to get Lucifer inside?"

Gabriel paused. "Uh..." He would have thought that was obvious. He glanced at Sam pointedly, who was clearly resigned. _He_ understood what would be necessary. The way Dean bristled, the wisps of light currently acting as his unmanifested wings raised protectively, signaled that Dean did not feel the same.

"Sam is not going in there with him."

" _Dean_ ," Sam groaned. He rolled his eyes to the sky.

"No, we talked about this-"

Gabriel didn't have time for family squabbles (outside of his own, that is). "Look," He raised a hand. "You figure out another way, I am all for it. Right now, though, we've got an appointment, and this guy doesn't like being stood up."

They frowned, confused. "We?"

"Me and you, Dean-o." He checked his wrist as if it had a watch. "We've got… two minutes."

" _What?"_ Dean sputtered. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

Gabriel shrugged. "Too late. As I said, two minutes."

Now, the screen door opened. Castiel exited, and something rushed out from behind him. "Piper!" Castiel yelped.

The little blur was apparently called Piper. And she wasn't supposed to come out here, Gabriel figured. He cocked his head at her when she stopped in front of him. She was an unusual soul dressed in little boy clothes, barefoot and large-eyed. It was definitely human, but her soul was closed off entirely to his eyes. He couldn't shift through it.

How was that possible? His confusion deepened. "What… are… you?" he asked slowly.

The little girl scowled up at him. "That's rude. It's rude to come in people's houses and ask what they are without even saying hi."

Gabriel blinked. He snorted in amusement. "I guess when you put it that way…"

"Don't talk to him, Piper," Dean growled. "Come here."

Piper hesitated, she scanned his face with a scrutiny that had him shifting awkwardly as if he was a fledgling all over again. Whatever she saw, her face cleared. She gave him a soft, awed smile. With a satisfied nod, she obeyed and walked quickly to Dean, who put a hand on her shoulder, holding her closely to himself. Gabriel watched this with narrowed eyes.

"So... starting a daycare on the side?"

"She is the weapon Heaven has attempted to acquire."

"Cass!" Dean protested. He gave him a very pointed look, tilting his head toward Piper. Castiel obviously didn't understand.

Gabriel's eyes widened, and he looked at the girl again with renewed interest. What did Heaven planning on doing with a little girl? Nothing good, he imagined.

But two minutes were almost up. He'd investigate this mystery later. "That's an interesting tidbit you neglected to mention. Time to go, Dean-o." Quickly, Gabriel grasped the angel's arm.

Dean tried to yank away, but couldn't (obviously). He scowled. "Sam and Cass come too."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Uh, a ticket for two, man. Sorry." With that, he spread his wings and took Dean with him.

Dean had learned since last time. He didn't struggle once they were in the air. Gabriel shifted his grip to hold Dean beneath his shoulders, and Dean scowled. "I hate you," he muttered, stiff.

"I know," Gabriel chirped. They flew across the land until they reached the designated meeting spot.

A pizza parlor in Chicago.

Death did love his pizza.

They flew through the wall (Dean spat profanity the entire time) and Gabriel dropped Dean onto the floor. He stumbled but managed to keep his feet. The diner was completely empty but for a single individual, whose back was turned toward them.

Gabriel went to land himself, but the moment he tried, an immense pressure pushed him back into the air. A jolt of panic rushed through him. He grabbed Dean's shoulder suddenly. "No!" he shouted at the unresponsive figure in the booth. "This was not the deal!"

Before Gabriel could get another word in, the pressure increased, and he flew back out of the room, swatted like an insect.

* * *

Dean Winchester was alone with Death.

He needed a new catchphrase. Getting in insane situations, dying repeatedly, the family business.

He jerked around in an attempt to keep grab Gabriel but wasn't fast enough. The archangel disappeared, leaving Dean alone. He cursed.

It was silent. So quiet, he almost didn't want to move and break it.

The only light, he realized, was coming from… himself. He was bathing the room in a warmth. Dean looked down at his chest. A pulsing, yellow light beat through his flannel in time with his heart beat. "What the…"

"Don't be alarmed," a voice said. "Now we may speak alone." The voice was dry and sharp and strong and Dean could sense echos of power lingering behind short sentences. His head snapped up. He hadn't even noticed the man (although he doubted it was a man) sitting in a booth. The man's cutlery tapped on his plate. "My presence has a tendency to do odd things to Grace. And you, sir, are an entirely new catch of fish, are you not?" Scrape, scrape went his knife on the plate.

Dean had no idea what to say to that. He cleared his throat and walked carefully around to see the man's face. He was exceedingly thin and pale, his cheekbones casting dark shadows on his face.

He used his fork to pick up and eat a piece of pizza.

Dean stared. "Are… are you Death?"

"No, I am the president," he said in complete seriousness.

"Uh…"

"Obviously, I am Death, boy."

Death gestured with his fork at the seat across from him. "Sit."

Dean obeyed. His eyes were drawn automatically to the black stone circling Death's finger. It was much less ordinate than the rings of the other horsemen, but it seemed very fitting all the same. Death continued to slice up his pizza. He was in no hurry. Dean was busy wondering if it were possible to kill Death. He needed that ring.

"You want the ring."

Dean's gaze flew up to meet his eyes. He shivered at the emptiness within. "Well, yeah."

"To open Lucifer's cage and stop the apocalypse."

"Yes."

"You can have it."

Dean's eyes widened. Had he heard him right? "What? You'll just give it to me?"  
Death nodded. "With some conditions, of course."

Of course. Tense, Dean nodded. He hated conditions. He hated having strings attached. But how else was he supposed to get the ring? "Okay. Fine. What do you want?"

Death smiled kindly. "Firstly, when you have finished with it, you will return the ring to me."

That was easy enough. "Alright. And?"

"And…" Death took a final bite and wiped his mouth with a white napkin. "You must not detain Sam Winchester from saying yes to Lucifer. He will throw Lucifer into the cage and you will not stop him."

Instantly, all of Dean's guards were up. He sneered. "Now, look, I'm not going to let my brother be tortured for eternity just 'cause no one else has thought of another solution!"

"There is no other solution," Death said calmly. He cocked his head, completely unruffled in the face of Dean's anger. Dean's light flickered and flared with his emotions.

"I'll find another solution."

"This is destined, Dean Winchester."

Destiny. Dean also hated the idea of anything being decided for him. He was sick and tired of being bossed around.

"I suppose you don't want the ring, then," Death said. He shrugged. "It does not matter to me. If you choose to not stop the apocalypse, it will merely mean I have a busier few years than usual. All I am asking for is your assurances, Dean. Words. I will trust you to keep them."

Ha. Dean's stomach twisted in a hard knot. All the guy was asking for was words. Words were nothing. He _needed_ that ring. "Fine," he growled. "I agree."

"Say it," Death said sharply. "Promise."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I promise to give you your ring back when I'm done with it and to not stop Sam from saying yes to Lucifer."

The light in his chest flickered and something tightened within him. Dean dismissed it. Death smiled just slightly. Carefully, he worked the ring off his knobby fingers. It dropped onto the table and spun.

Dean pocketed it.

"I wish you the best of luck," Death said. He stood and Dean did as well. Death unfolded himself, and he was suddenly much taller than Dean had thought he'd be. A dark nothingness surrounded him as he adjusted his suit. "It has been a pleasure meeting you officially."

Dean wasn't sure he could say the same so he just nodded.

Death turned to walk away, however, he paused. "Oh, and Dean. My presence may have some lingering effects." His eyes twinkled, apparently amused. "Again, I would advise not being alarmed."

With this slightly disturbing message, Death left the room and the room melted away with him.

Dean blinked, and suddenly he was standing on a country road in the middle of nowhere. The sun was melting into a red horizon, and the road stretched open arms out toward it. As far as Dean could see, wheat fields gave the earth a golden sheen that was broken solely by an occasional green and brown oak tree.

Dean spun around, shoes scuffing on the asphalt, and he tipped backward, drastically unbalanced. He fumbled to catch himself but was too late. He groaned irritably from the floor. What the heck was that? A great weight on his shoulders was throwing him off but he wasn't wearing a backpack or anything or the sort. He sat up and glanced behind him, only to leap to his feet in horror. He stumbled, forced to rock on his heels and lean forward slightly to balance the weight. He couldn't breathe.

Behind Dean were a pair of crimson colored wings that darkened to a charcoal at the tips. But Dean didn't care about the aesthetic. There were friggin _wings_ on his back. They twitched in the wind, and he could feel the air flowing across them, like fingers over his scalp. Just as sensitive as his fingertips.

Oh, heck no. He was not doing this.

In the distance, a bright speck sped across the sky. Dean forced himself to stand very still. A moment later, Gabriel came to a running landing, folding his own wings expertly to his back.

"Dean! There you are! I swear I didn't know Death would do that! Did you get the- Woah." He stopped suddenly.

Dean crossed his arms, but that made it more difficult to balance so he unfolded them again. Gabriel was staring at him, or rather, just behind him, with something almost like appreciation. "Well, that's certainly creative."

Dean really didn't want to hear that. Death, that jerk, had done this to him, and now he just wanted it gone. He scowled. "Why are you _always_ showing up when I don't want you around?"

Gabriel shrugged. "It's a talent of mine."

Dean growled, tried to take a step, thought against it, and ended up in the same spot. He rubbed his neck, suddenly embarrassed. Gabriel was amused. He came nearer and tried to balance Dean. "You okay?"

Dean slapped his hands off of him. "I'm fine."

Gabriel glared. But his eyes were soft. Not quite pitying, but certainly concerned. It was strange to see him with anything other than spite on his face. "You say that a lot. Doesn't make it true. Believe me, sucker, I know."

Dean huffed. He shuffled backward and cursed. "How the heck do you walk around with these things?" he grunted.

This time, Gabriel couldn't restrain a chuckle. "You, uh, if you hold them close to you, it's not-"

"How do I move them?"

Gabriel opened his mouth and closed it again. He gestured helplessly. "Dude, it's just a thing you do. How would you tell someone how to move their arm?"

This was getting neither of them anywhere, and panic was boiling higher and higher in Dean's chest. "Can you make them go away? Un-manifest them or whatever or, or-"

"Woah, Woah. Calm down a-"

"I'm not going to _calm down!_ There are giant freaky angel appendages attached to my back that I did _not_ ask for!"

Gabriel pursed his lips irritably. His own feathers ruffled in the evening breeze. "Okay, I'm gonna be the bigger person and not take offense to that."

Dean ran his hands through his hair in agitation, nearly losing his balance again. "Can you do it?"

"Do what?"

He growled in frustration. "Make them go away again!"

Gabriel's jaw tightened. "No, I can't. They are _your_ wings and they've been there this whole time so I don't see-."

"I don't _want-_ "

Gabriel's patience finally broke. He threw his hands in the air. "No one cares what you want _,_ Dean! There are larger issues than you throwing a pissy fit over a _gift_ you were given by _God._ " He stepped up close to him. Close enough to glare directly into his eyes. "How many people in all of time do you think Dad has done this for? Hmm? That's right. _Just you._ He singled you out and _spoke_ to you. Do you know what I would do to _speak_ to him?"

Dean stared at Gabriel, wide-eyed and mute.

"And what about your little buddy Castiel? What do you think he would give to be an angel again?"

Dean scowled. "Don't act like you care about him."

"I _do_ care. As stupid and irrational as it is, _I do_. How long have you known Castiel? One? Two years? Try a _millennium_."

Dean's jaw clenched but still, he said nothing. Gabriel stepped even closer.

"Everyone and I mean everyone, Sam, Castiel, the writer, Bobby, the readers, _me_ are tired of you moping around. The world is _ending, Dean._ Get with the program and _fold your wings_!"

Swallowing thickly, Dean crossed his arms. It wasn't every day you got told off by an archangel. Anger churned hot within him, but he did not shout.

The Archangel was right. For once.

Dean's eyes dropped to the asphalt.

And his wings folded neatly to his back. He shifted his shoulders at the unusual sensation, but Gabriel was right. It was like moving an arm. He'd just been panicking.

With that, Gabriel spun around and stormed off a few feet. He paused and jerked back. "Did you get the ring?"

Dean nodded and dug into his pocket to take it out

Nodding sharply, Gabriel cast him one last disgusted glare. "Then you won't mind if I leave you to find your own frigging way home."

Gabriel launched himself into the sky.

And Dean was alone again, Sam's words from weeks ago echoing in his mind. _You're an angel, Dean. Act like it._

Maybe they were right.

* * *

AN: Hello again, my darling readers. Please leave a _**review.** T_ hanks for reading! I hope you enjoy this story.


	24. Not About Angels

24\. Not About Angels

"Are you alright, Dean?"

"I'm fine," Dean muttered.

He clearly wasn't. In fact, he'd been acting strange ever since Sam picked him up from a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Dean had called him and waited four hours for Sam to get there. When he finally arrived, Sam was fully prepared to listen to four more hours of ranting on Dean's part about Gabriel leaving him behind.

Instead, he had not said a single word about the archangel. When Sam drove up, he'd been standing, staring rather dully at nothing. His eyes flicked to the Impala.

"Do you wanna drive?" Sam had asked.

Dean visibly considered this. Then, to Sam's shock, he shook his head. "Naw. I'm… unless you're tired?"

"No, I'm cool." Sam got back in the driver's seat, and Dean stared apprehensively at the car door. "Uh, Dean?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah."

"Let's go?"

Dean nodded decidedly, opened the door, and folded himself gingerly inside. A flash of shock flew across his face as he settled into the seat. He glanced behind him and cocked his head confusedly.

Sam's brow furrowed. Nothing about his behavior was at all typical. "Are you hurt? I should have asked you before but I guess I've gotten used to... cause you know-"

"No, I'm fine. Not hurt. Got the ring too." With a grin that was much more 'Dean' he fished it out of his pocket. The black stone looked like nothing special to Sam, but he knew looks could be deceiving.

"Well, that's good. Honestly, I thought that would be much more difficult."

Dean snorted in amusement. "Me too." They lapsed into silence, but suddenly Dean took in a quick breath. "Do I… do I look different to you?"

Sam glanced at him quickly between keeping his eyes on the road. "No? Should you?"

Dean just shook his head somewhat wonderingly and turned up the radio.

It wasn't until they arrived at Bobby's that Sam figured out what was going on.

The sun had set ages ago, but when they pulled into the scrap yard and parked on the gravel driveway, the porch light was still on, waiting for them.

The moment they exited the car, the front door opened. "They're back!" Piper shrieked. She came running down the porch steps and into Sam, who chuckled. She smelled like crayons and shampoo, and her thin form pressed tightly into him. He could feel her bones.

"What are you doing up so late?"

"Bobby said I could read with him until you came home with Dean. Dean!" Piper untangled herself from Sam and began to rush toward Dean, however, she froze in place a few steps from him, her neck craned up. "Woah," she whispered.

Dean, who was standing with his hands sheepishly in his pockets, leaning against the car, gave her half a smile. "That cool, are they? Haven't really had a chance to look."

Sam frowned, confused. Behind him, he heard the screen door open and shut.

"Did you get the ring?" Castiel asked. He had bags under his eyes.

Dean nodded and held it up in the porch light. Castiel smiled. "What happened?"

"Death didn't give a crap. Which is fitting, I guess. He gave it to me."  
Castiel pursed his lips as if to ask more, but Piper caught his eye. He followed her gaze and his mouth did a funny thing where it was smiling and frowning at once. Sam, still confused, glanced at Piper. She was staring intently at the air directly over Dean's shoulder.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

So that was why he'd been moving so weird.

"Piper?" Sam asked. "Piper, what are you looking at?"

Dean shifted his weight uncomfortably but said nothing. He kept his eyes fixed on Piper and chewed the inside of his cheek. The air was suddenly very heavy with tension, although Sam couldn't tell if it came from Dean or Castiel all of them.

Piper was oblivious. She turned and smiled. "Dean has real ones now!"

"Real what?" Although he already knew.

"Wings," Castiel murmured from the porch. He stuck his hands into his pockets and nodded, eyes on the floor. "Yes?"

Dean wasn't looking at Piper anymore. If Sam didn't know better, he might have thought Dean looked _guilty._ But it wasn't his fault. Why would he… he _shouldn't_ feel guilty. "Cas-" he started.

"That's good, Dean. It means your Grace is no longer as unsteady."

Castiel himself looked perfectly steady, forcefully unclenching his fists. But Sam could see it in his eyes. He'd been supportive, helpful, before now, but this was hurting him. Sam thought it very brave of him to hide (or attempt to) hide how he felt about it. For Dean's benefit. Castiel _wanted_ those wings. Castiel wanted those wings he could not see or touch or use.

Of course, he did.

After all

He was only human.

Dean would know the truth anyway.

This seemed to occur to Castiel because his eyes hardened suddenly, he tried something like a smile and suddenly walked off the edge of the porch and wound his way through the darkness of the scrapyard. Out of sight. Dean moved as if to go after him, but Sam quickly rested a hand on his arm.

"He's fine."

"No, he's not," Dean growled. His eyes searched Sam's face for answers Sam didn't know how to give him. His shoulder's slumped. "I- I just… I don't-"  
"It's not your fault," Sam said softly. "Give him a bit. Castiel knows."

"Castle just misses his wings."

Sam blinked down at Piper, who, honestly, he'd forgotten about. Both of them did.

"How…?" Dean said softly. And then louder, "How did you know Cass used to have wings?"  
Piper squinted as she thought. "He's got a funny glow."

A funny glow.

Why was she always saying the most cryptic things?

Dean looked at her thoughtfully. "Some aftereffect of Grace?"  
Piper shrugged. "I dunno." She sighed, bored. "I'm going inside. Bobby said he'd play hide and seek with me."

Sam chuckled, palmed the car keys, and started toward the house. Behind him, Piper kept up a soft running stream of questions. "Can I touch them?" she ended.

"Of anybody, you probably can."

Sam pretended not to hear. He closed the screen door and turned to watch through the front window curiously. He could not say he was not fascinated. Wings. What did they look like? What did it feel like? How large were they? What were they made of?

But he couldn't ask any of those questions because Dean would clam up on him. So… Sam would ease into it. Right now, he watched through the window. Piper and Dean were seated on the porch steps. Piper lifted her hand and paused. Dean nodded. "It's okay. Gentle, though."

She ran her hand across the bare air with awe in his eyes. Dean's fingers twitched. He coughed slightly and rubbed his nose. Apparently suddenly decided, Dean copied Piper's movement. He relaxed as his fingers intertwined with something Sam couldn't see. "Friggin weird," he breathed.

Piper shook her head. "They're like fire. Nice fire. 'S beautiful."

Dean chuckled. "You would think that, wouldn't you?"

With a soft smile, Sam let the curtain fall.

* * *

In the darkness behind the house, the light from a back window fell across the dirt and delicately climbed up a stack of cars. Castiel leaned against the car, half his face lit by the yellow light, and he lifted a light cigarette to his lips. The red tip pulsed like a little stoplight.

He cautiously breathed, only to cough and gag as his lungs seized around the unpleasant substance. He dropped the cigarette and coughed a few times more, eyes watering. Alright. Apparently, he wasn't the smoking type.

Wiping his eyes, Castiel exhaled. He stared up at the sky.

He was being stupid. Selfish. Childish. Human.

He wrinkled his nose.

Dean had had wings for a long time now. They hadn't been _actually there_ , but he'd had them all the same.

He was supposed to be being supportive. This was difficult for Dean. Cass couldn't make it worse by petty jealousy. He shouldn't.

"But it's hard for you too, isn't it?" whispered a voice.

Cass stilled. He turned his head slowly. Leaning against a nearby car was a young, pretty woman in all black. She smiled rather ferally at him.

Wonderful.

"Always in the backseat, right, _Cass?_ God, these people don't even have the decency to use your full name. Give you a pet name instead." Her lips quirked up. "That's what you are, did you know? The Winchester's pet angel." She wrinkled her nose. "Or, used-to-be-angel."

Castiel glared. He slowly reached into his pocket, only to have his heart fall down to his feet. He'd come out here without any weapons, too focused on Dean's predicament."You're a demon."

The girl quirked an eyebrow. "No sh*t, Sherlock."

Castiel wasn't sure exactly what that expression meant, but he let it go. "You shouldn't be here."

She stuck her lip out. "Aw, Cass, such a Debbie-downer." She took a step forward, and Castiel stiffened. He stood straight, hands at his sides. Weaponless.

"Leave. Now, or I will-"

"You'll what? Call your friends to come save you? Again? Have Dean and his angelic butt, however, _that_ happened, save your mortal one?" She laughed. "No one can hear you out here. You're too far away. And aren't you supposed to be the guardian angel anyway? You're doing a really pathetic job, tbh, I mean-"

Castiel ground his teeth. "Stop. Stop talking."

She rolled her eyes and came closer. There was nothing Castiel could do to stop her. His hands and feet were frozen. Closer and closer she came until she was close enough he could see her very still chest. No breaths. Almost kindly, she brushed a lock of hair from his eyes and smiled at him.

"You poor, pathetic, broken little thing. I am almost hesitant to do this. It might be a favor for the Winchesters." she chuckled. "Imagine that. Me, helping the Winchesters." A shrug. "But… I have things to do and you just _so conveniently_ standing out here all alone so..." Castiel's heart thumped and thumped. He struggled to move, but she held him there. Her eyes met his. "Goodbye, Castiel."

* * *

AN: It has been a while. I am deeply apologetic :( But here I am again! I am _determined_ to finished this story out even if I have to _drag_ it out of my head. Anyway, please leave a review! I'd love to hear from you!


	25. Fragile

_**An: I cried writing this.**_

 _ **I am so sorry.**_

* * *

25\. Fragile

Something was wrong.

Dean stood up and closed the closet door. It was on the tip of his tongue…

"Dean?"

"Shh." Dean held up a hand, and Sam stopped short. They were in the middle of a hide and seek game with Piper since Bobby had decided to go to the store, and Piper had to give Dean this look when she asked if they would play with her. They had yet to find her. Given that they said she was going to bed when they discovered her, both brothers anticipated she'd hid well. The house creaked and moaned in the evening.

Sam frowned at him, the playfulness that had been in his eyes instantly extinguishing. "Dean, what's wrong?"  
"I don't know," Dean hissed, very still. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that Piper was hiding? He settled on 'bad' because he didn't know where she was. If she'd been anyone else, he thought he might see her soul shining through the cracks in the walls like everyone else's did, but Piper's soul wasn't like that. It was… different. He didn't blame Gabriel for being weirded out when he saw her. "I swear something bad is gonna-"

The screen door opened and shut.

"Dean?" said a familiar voice. "Sam? Where are you guys?"

Dean relaxed slightly. Perhaps he was wrong. Sam glanced at Dean and shrugged.

"See what he wants," Dean said. "I'll find Piper." He wasn't sure how exactly to talk to Cass right now.

He ought to apologize, he thought, his steps heavy on the staircase. Gabriel, as shocking as it was, might actually have been right about one thing. Castiel no doubt wanted to be what Dean was. But how on earth was he supposed to apologize for something like this? I'm sorry God made me an angel and not you.

That sounded stupid.

I'm sorry that I don't want to be an angel when you want to be one but can't. That sounded stupid too.

Castiel would just have to get over it. He was fine. He was strong; stronger than Dean ever could be, Dean thought. He'd figure it out. Of anyone Dean knew, Castiel was the strongest.

Yes.

At the top of the stairs, Dean shook away the apprehension tickling his neck. "Piper," he called softly. He opened a linen cupboard to reveal a very dusty vacuum and no Piper. He shut the wooden door quietly. Downstairs, Sam and Cass's voices murmured on. He tuned them out. "Piper, you are actually pretty good at this game. Did you know that?"

The shadows were long and inky in the hallway. Dean's shadow from the distant light of the downstairs kitchen only increased the darkness. They'd taken to only keeping lights on in the room they were currently in (apparently to save money according to Bobby) and they'd not bothered to turn on any of the lights upstairs.

Dean opened another cupboard and grinned. "There you are, little… girl." His chest tightened. Piper was curled up at the bottom of the cupboard with very wide eyes and her knees tight to her chest. Terrified. She quivered and looked up at him.

"They're here," she whispered.

Before Dean could respond, a loud crash downstairs jerked him into action.

 _What are you_ doin _-!?_

Sam's voice cut off suddenly, and Dean froze.

His head spun with the very potent truth that something is very, very wrong. He threw himself into action. "Stay in here." He shifted some of the boxes inside the cupboard to cover her up. "Don't move, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

Cursing, Dean shut up the cupboard and eased his way toward the top of the stairs. Something is wrong. They'd gotten lax. There was always something out to hunt them, and he'd gone and almost forgotten.

More slams and crunches.

Dean slowly walked down the staircase, his gun in his hand before he'd even thought to take it out.

He rounded a corner, only to freeze in shock.

Lit by a swinging hanging light, the kitchen rocked back and forth. Sam was stuck against the wall, he was bloody but he was alive and that was what was important. And sitting at the kitchen table, calmly eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, was Castiel.

At his entrance, Castiel looked up and smiled easily. "Hello, Dean. Wanna piece?" He held out his sandwich.

Dean's jaw tightened. He kept the gun raised. "Cass, what the heck is going on?"

Ignoring the question, Castiel shrugged and bit his sandwich. "Your loss."

Something flickered behind Castiel.

No, not behind. Inside. A great blackness wound inside and around him like a cloak made of midnight. He cocked his head and Castiel's eyes flashed black, overwhelmed by the venom pouring from inside him. His face contorted and rippled like melting chocolate.

The answer was painfully obvious. "You're not Castiel."

Castiel smirked. His face reformed. Let it be known that Cass never smirked. If he was to smile it was always genuine, maybe a bit confused, but never spiteful. "You could really use some touching up on your Sight. Never seen an angel take that long to recognize one of us." A shrug and then, "Then again, you're not exactly an expert at any of this, if little Cassy's memories are to be noted." The demon made a tsking noise with his tongue. "It's a wonder you haven't accidentally offed yourself by now."

The demon took another bite of the sandwich and chewed slowly. "This s*it is delicious."

Dean still had no idea what to do. Sam was grimacing, stuck to the wall, and Dean stood frozen, gun in hand, but there wasn't much he could do with that. Not without hurting Cass.

"I dunno if you're brave or just stupid, or maybe both, but you do realize there are devil's traps everywhere and I, as you so kindly mentioned, am an angel?" He took a step forward, wishing he was truly as emboldened by his words as he appeared. His wings automatically raised and poised sharp edges down on the intruder. "You don't stand a chance in a fight against me."

The demon set his sandwich down and nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. I wouldn't stand a chance." The usual wicked gleam in a demon's eye only grew stronger. "But how likely do you think it is that your little buddy here will survive you attempting to kill me, hmm?"

Dean clenched his jaw and glared. "Exorcisms are the new sexy, I hear."

"So is being dead, Winchester."

Neither of them moved.

Finally, "What do you want?" His mind was whirling. If he attempted to exorcise the demon, the demon would surely kill Castiel, and if Dean tried to kill the demon (with angel mojo?) he'd kill Castiel as well. Not to mention he had no idea how to smite demons. That should have been something he asked Castiel. If he hadn't been so friggin terrified and stubborn, maybe he would have. Maybe he would have asked a lot of things and they wouldn't be in this situation.

His heart hammered in his chest as he forced himself to think. "What do you want?" he repeated.

The demon stood. It stared through familiar eyes with such a coldness it ran shivers down Dean's back. "The girl. We need her."

Dean frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

The demon rolled its eyes. "Don't try to lie to me, choir boy. I _breathe_ lies."

What was with demons and melodrama, hm? "You can't have her." Dean crossed his arms.

"Can't I?"

Suddenly Piper appeared by Castiel's side. He had his hand tight on her shoulder, and she stared up at him with wide eyes. "C-Castle?"

"So here's how this is going to go. I'm going to walk out of here with Piper. And that's… yeah, that's all. The end. Bye bye."

In the corner, Sam choked.

Dean was more powerful than a demon. Angels always were, right?

"Castiel?" Piper asked again. She cast a desperate gaze at Dean. "That's not Castiel."

No, it wasn't, Piper.

"The old Castiel can't come to the phone right now," the demon replied with a soft pat on her shoulder. It kept his eyes on Dean as they walked toward the door. "Why? Oh... cause he's dead." It snickered. "That was a joke. I mean, it wasn't a joke, but the way I said it was but you don't get it cause you are _laame_."

"You're lying," Dean growled. He stepped forward.

"What? No, it really was funny." The demon grinned and then rolled his eyes. "Oh. you mean 'little Cassy is dead'. That's true. I'm killing him right now." Without a single moment of hesitation, the demon jerked Castiel's head to the side.

It popped loudly. Piper gasped.

The demon laughed. "Too bad, isn't it?"

And Dean's world stopped. His stomach dropped and time slowed to a crawl. He could see it. The flicker behind the demon. Castiel. Dying. Dead. Gone.

No.

Oh no, that wasn't going to fly.

The sound of cracking bone echoed in his ears. He stood there in the still room for a moment longer, stunned.

But not for long.

He clenched his fists, and stormed toward the frozen demon, fury boiling in his chest. He grabbed it by the front of its shirt and yanked it away from Piper. "Go to hell," he spat.

Time snapped back like a breaking rubberband, and the demon jerked away from him. At the same time, Sam fell off the wall, and Piper darted away. "Run!" Dean shouted at her.

He kept his hold on the shirt and forced the demon to keep looking at him. The demon's eyes were completely black, but Dean wasn't frightened.

If Dean could have seen his own glowing eyes, he might have understood exactly why the demon looked suddenly so terrified. It had made a mistake. Dean was fast. And it had just seriously pissed him off. It destroyed its only leverage. Stupid.

"You are _nothing_ , do you hear me? _Nothing_."

He slammed his hand into the demon's chest, furious, and the demon gagged. It choked, and to their mutual shock, black smoke poured from its mouth. "Please," the demon gasped. "I-I'm sorry. I have to. They n-need her."

"Why?" Dean growled.

More smoke leaked from the demon's mouth. It coughed, and it's face flickered back and forth. "She c-can kill angels. With her thoughts."

Dean didn't care. Not right now.

He pushed his hand deeper, and the demon screamed in agony. The rest of the smoke flew into the air, crackled with red lighting, and disappeared out of a window.

Silence.

Everything was still.

A clock fell off the wall and a window shattered, and Castiel slumped into Dean's arm.

He was cold and his neck lulled strangely to the side.

Dean dropped to his knees. " _Sam_!" he screamed.

"I'm here." A hand fell on Dean's shoulder. Dean hardly felt it. He didn't feel the kitchen floor digging into his knees. He didn't feel the rain and the wind that was picking up around him.

Dean stared down at the man in his arms. Castiel's eyes were open, still contorted in terror from the moment the demon left him. But they were empty. Dull. He hadn't realized he'd become accustomed to seeing his soul fluttering around inside him. And now he was gone. Dead.

Dean cleared his throat. "You idiot," he whispered. He blinked rapidly. "Where's Piper?" he said louder.

"She's hiding in a cupboard."

"Good. That's… that's…"

Sam sat down next to him. His grip on his shoulder tightened. "Dean," he said, "Dean, we have to get out of here. The demon will be back. And probably with friends."

"Let them come." Dean tightened his jaw and swallowed thickly.

Sam hesitated. He carefully took Dean's hand and led it away from Castiel's head. "He's gone, Dean," Sam breathed in shudderingly. His voice was hoarse. "A-and we're going to kill every last one of them for it. You and me. Together. But first, we need to get Piper safe."

Dean shook his head and jerked his hand away from Sam. "I'm not leaving him."

"Dean-"

"Don't _touch_ me!" Something inside him roared. He clenched his fists around Castiel.

Sam flinched back. "Please, Dean."

Dean finally turned away from his friend. His best friend. His _dead_ best friend. He stared at his brother. How could he act like this? How could he possibly think they could just leave? "This is my fault," Dean snapped. He stood with Sam, Castiel at their feet.

Sam shook his head. His eyes were red-rimmed. "No, it's not. It's not your fault!"

And what was even worse, Sam was lying. Dean could see it churning deep in him. This was Dean's fault. If he hadn't been so stubborn. If he had learned how to control his Grace better. If he hadn't been so freaking afraid, Cass would be standing in front of them right now. Sam knew this. Dean did too. Oh, did he.

Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Couldn't stand. He choked on nothing and everything and Sam tried to stable him, but Dean swatted him away. He fumbled off a few steps and gripped his hair in his hands. There was definitely a storm brewing in the kitchen now. If he'd bothered to notice, he would have seen Sam's terror. The entire room shook intermittently. Lightning flashed outside. Something was screaming and roaring and crying almost above Sam's hearing.

"Please!"

Dean turned. Sam's face was bloody, Dean finally saw. His eyes fell down immediately to Castiel on the floor. That floor shook. Plaster from the ceiling crumbled and fell in plate-sized chunks.

"God, please! Dean! Stop!"

God.

Dean froze. His eyes jerked up to Sam again.

"God," he whispered.

Dean wouldn't close those blue eyes. No. No, this wasn't over. Dean's resolve hardened. There was only one person who could fix all of this.

Without further hesitation. Dean scrambled past the fallen pieces of the ceiling and picked Castiel up, cradling him like a child easily.

Sam wiped the sweat off of his forehead and gulped. "W-what are you doing?"

"Take Piper somewhere safe," Dean instructed. He shifted the great wings he had so recently acquired, and his stomach twisted. But none of that was important. He gave Sam a somewhat manic smile. "I'm gonna fix this," he breathed. "I'm going to fix him."

Sam tried to get to his feet, questions already on his tongue, but there wasn't time. Dean needed to go now before he lost whatever intuition he had.

So before Sam could speak, he stretched his wings.

And suddenly he was far above the house, balancing on the wind. Dizzyingly high up.

His heart hammered in his throat, and he still couldn't breathe. He was so shocked, he stopped moving for a moment, which caused him to plunge several feet.

But there was something instinctive about this. Dean ground his teeth and gripped Castiel tighter. He would not drop him. Not now. Not here.

 _I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

It was about time he returned the favor.

Any other moment, he would be thinking about the particulars. How to get to Heaven, how to fly, how to find God.

None of these questions crossed his mind. He had a singular purpose. Find God. God would bring Cass back. He had too.

He had to because Dean couldn't do it himself and a resurrection was the only alternative he was willing to consider. But resurrection always came with a price. Unless you were God, of course.

That was as far forward as he let himself think.

So he was flying. Higher and higher and higher. He broke into the stormy cloud cover. Thunder and lightning danced around him and shook him to his core. Awed and terrified, he stilled in the air and spun in a slow circle. Lightning darted downward and circled around him.

Once more, time slowed. He knew, then, how to get into Heaven.

As the bolt stretched out its arms to embrace the earth, Dean flew after it. One hand holding Castiel, the other stretched out in front of him, he could see raindrops turning into steam when they fell too close to the intense heat. Dean stretched further. Further.

His fingertips connected with the lightning.

The world erupted into a white and blue light and he screamed. He was jerked up by an immense pressure, but to his horror, when he looked down at Castiel, his body crumbled in his arms. In an instant, it fell into ash that was just as quickly swallowed by the light. Dean screamed louder. A conversation thrust itself into his mind. Something Cass said once.

 _Something physical might survive in Heaven if it has a soul. Humans, for example. But something without a soul? No. Anything else would not make the trip._

Dean had forgotten entirely. He couldn't take Castiel's body to Heaven.

The light tunnel ended suddenly. Dean fell to his knees, empty-handed, in a garden.

It was beautiful and it was calm and it was just the perfect temperature. Ways off, a young man flew a kite.

This stillness lasted only an instant.

Dean scrambled to his feet. His wings folded sort of to his back. His eyes were hard and as vibrant as the lightning he'd just crossed through. He took a step forward and suddenly he was in a large meeting hall, similar to the medical hall he'd visited last time. Angels were scattered around the cathedral talking, walking, sitting amongst themselves.

They turned every one of them and froze in various states of shock at the sight of the newcomer.

With wings like fire and eyes like ice and lightning still sparking around him, he was a sight they had not seen since Lucifer himself.

They would speak of this day for ages. The day Dean Winchester stormed Heaven like a hurricane and demanded no less than an audience with God himself.

"God is not here," one of the braver angels replied first. Immediately, waves of agreement washed over the large group. God wasn't around and wouldn't be coming home soon.

Dean stared at them all.

Seriously?

It was almost humorous how freaking oblivious they were. He stretched his arms out. "Look at me," he shouted. " _Look at me_ and tell me that _God isn't here_!"

So they looked. At his wings and his glowing, fiery eyes and the multiple, stacked faces bundled up inside him. Ravens and bears and lions and beasts unheard of. This was Dean Winchester, the angel.

But not just an angel. An angel with a human soul. But not unstable like a Nephilim. He was not human, an angel of any class, a Nephilim, nor a monster but something entirely different. Something brand new.

The angel's gaped.

Dean's arms dropped limply to his sides. His shoulder's slumped.

He needed Cass. More than anything in the world. Cass and his eternal optimism. Cass and his hope in the impossible. Cass and his love for humanity. Cass and all that Dean knew he would never be. He would never be the person Cass was, and it was tearing him into shreds that Cass didn't know just how important he was. _I never told him._ And he'd need to be told. _He_ was needed. It shouldn't have needed to be said. Dean must not have made it obvious enough.

He couldn't do this alone.

Unless he fixed Cass, he'd never get the chance to tell him all of that. It made Dean nauseous at just the thought of it.

Out of the crowd, a small, thin, familiar angel stuck her hand up and pushed her way forward. "H-he's right," she started. They turned to her, and she pushed her glasses up her nose. "He's new. Only the Father can make something like that."

"I agree," someone answered. And soon most of them were slowly nodding their heads. Excitement grew in the air, physical like electricity. A few angels laughed. Someone let out something like a sob. _He's home!_

"Don't be ridiculous."

The very cold metal of a sword poked into the small of Dean's back, and a hand wrapped firmly around his shoulder.

Dean tried to pull away but the person was strong. They kept him still. They'd maneuvered some way with their back arm that kept both of his wings firmly folded. They twisted his arm behind his back. And Dean was stuck. He did that in less than a second.

The angel looked do at Dean and gave him an empty smile. "Winchester. Causing trouble are we?"

Dean managed to twist slightly to see his face. He flinched in shock and the blade nicked his back. Right. Of course. Dean winced and glared at his captor. "You."

Right. Of course. Dean winced and glared at his captor. " _You_."

The angel shrugged. "Me." Behind him, another man stepped up. His arms were crossed, his many black wings tucked to his sides. Raphael. Wonderful.

The angel at Dean's back lifted his voice and addressed the crowd. "What he has told you is incorrect! As we all know, the Father has been gone for a very long time."

Dean cursed and tried to move, but the angel just tightened his grip. "He's lying-!" Dean shouted.

"I am not! This form the Winchester wears is a trick. An illusion. He plans to lead you away from the cause! To upend destiny!"

The crowd murmured. They swayed. The angel at Dean's back shook his head sadly. "Who do you trust more, brothers and sisters? Us? Or this _creature_? This freak of nature?"

"Watch it banana bread," Dean growled.

The angel's mouth twitched up slightly. "You were an idiot, coming here," he growled.

Yeah, well maybe but whatever.

Dean had lost the crowd. He could see it in their eyes. They were too scared. Too freaking scared.

"Alright," Raphael spoke up. His voice was smooth and soft. Like melted chocolate. It soothed the air. "Show's over. Back to your duties. We will take care of this… thing."

The angel jerked him away, and Dean could do nothing but follow. The crowd went reluctantly to their affairs, and Dean was pushed into a white, emotionless hallway. He, Raphael, and the angel at his back walked down the hallway in silence. Their footsteps echoed.

"We will take him to Naomi. See what she makes of him." Raphael murmured.

Dean didn't know who Naomi was, but he didn't like that idea. Not at all. Dean opened his mouth, but suddenly something squeezed his throat. No words escaped.

"Shut up," said his captor.

Dean stewed. He should have known. He should have run the other way the moment he heard about this guy.

"Naomi," the angel replied thoughtfully. "What's she going to do?"

"Hopefully, study the phenomenon. See if he can be made… useful. If not." Raphael shrugged. "We won't have to worry about him anymore."

Well, sh...

"Can I kill him?"

Dean's head jerked up, and the movement pulled on his wings unexpectedly in his contorted position.

Raphael raised an eyebrow. "After she's finished with him. After _we're_ finished with him. If you like."

The angel grumbled. "That could be _ages_ , Raph. Just, like, this guy he… he's insulted me. Repeatedly. He really doesn't deserve to be… utilized. This is the one who didn't break in Hell for forty years. _Forty years_. What are the chances that he'd ever work for us?"

Raphael grunted. "You are correct. Dean Winchester will never willingly obey. But Naomi has methods around such things. Either way, there are more important matters to attend to."

Dean distantly wondered what those matters were. But he was busy thinking of other things.

 _I know you can hear me. I-I'm not a beggar. You know I'm not. But please. I'll go with them. Whatever. Just…_ Dean's stomach rolled and his chest ached.

 _Cass._

 _Save Cass. That's all I'm asking._

It wasn't working.

Or the big guy just wasn't listening. Dean sighed. Everything weighed a million pounds. He couldn't do this. He was going to be stripped down to nothing by some psycho angel and Cass was still going to be dead. The apocalypse was still going to happen. Sam was alone with a grenade of a little girl.

And it was all his fault. Dean could spend forever blaming everything and everyone.

But, shoot, _he_ screwed up.

"You go. I'll take him the rest of the way."

Raphael paused. He considered. "Are you sure you can handle him?"

The angel snorted. "Pu- _lease_. Don't baby me. It's just down the hall"

Raphael responded with a slight smile. He nodded in consent. "Thank you." He spread his wings and disappeared.

Leaving Dean alone with the angel.

They walked silently a little further until they reached a metal door. The angel released one hand, opened the door, and walked inside with him.

He shut the door.

And released Dean.

Immediately, Dean swung around and socked him in the face. It hadn't even been a conscious decision. It was just very natural to punch this particular person in the face. The angel flew back into the door, groaned and stood up again.

Gabriel rubbed his cheek. "We really need to stop meeting like this. It's a little too… kinky for my tastes. And that's coming from me." He smirked.

"You _snake_! I _trusted_ you!"

"Aw, that's sweet."

Dean stared at him, shocked. "What the heck is going on? So you're with them now?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Instead of responding, he glanced up in the corner.

There was a little camera.

Gabriel wrinkled his nose, and the camera sparked. He relaxed and pinched between his eyes. "Finally," he muttered a second later. "Sheesh. I've been walking around with a stick up my arse forever."

Dean cocked his head. "What?"

"Oh, yeah. No, I'm not with them."Gabriel looked up again and grinned. "I did well, didn't I? Totally had you convinced. Which was awesome because Raph is way too smart for his own good and you had to be shocked. You think he bought it? He totally bought it."

Dean blinked. "W-wait. You- that was an act?"

"Yeah?"Gabriel shrugged. "Dude, I've been acting for more than a millennium. I've got that mother down."

Dean relaxed marginally.

He'd overreacted. If Gabriel was on Team Michael, he would have had plenty of times to take Dean out before now. It wouldn't make sense to wait this long only to give himself away. That left only one question. "What are you doing up here?"

"I have this horrible condition called nosiness. I was, uh, morbidly curious to see just how crappy it had gotten up here since ya'll peek my interest. And Heaven has btw. It's beyond crap it's, urk. I dunno how to even… But whatever. I was gonna do a quick inventory and book it, but Michael and Raphael caught me and so now I sort of got myself in a knot. Either way, it means I've got an inside ear, so that's good news." Gabriel crossed his arms. "But, Woah, Woah, What am _I_ doing here? What were _you_ thinking? You are _so lucky_ I happened to be nearby! You'd be Naomi's biology frog right now if it weren't for me. What on earth possessed you to storm the palace?"

Dean swallowed.

Gabriel's face fell. His hands dropped to his sides. "Oh gods, something's wrong. Something's really wrong. What happened?"

Dean cleared his throat. "I came here cause I need to talk to God again."

Gabriel frowned. "Yeah, me too, buddy. Get in line."

A rush of anger went down through Dean's fingertips followed by a wave of exhaustion. He couldn't deal with this crap right now. He scrubbed his face with his hands. "It's Cass."

"Cass?"

Dean looked him in the eye. "Castiel dead."

* * *

AN: if someone legitimately murders me within the next few days of posting this chapter I will be not even a little surprised. Leave a... **_review_**? first? at least?


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